


i'll mend your broken heart

by nerdytardis



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Season/Series 01, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/pseuds/nerdytardis
Summary: Matt and Foggy have everything they ever wanted--which also means that they have everything to lose.(it's Season One of Daredevil, except Matt and Foggy are married this time)





	i'll mend your broken heart

**Author's Note:**

> while the original idea for this came from the song "in your pocket" by maroon 5, it was "under one condition" by winger that really inspired what this story became, so that's where i pulled the title from
> 
> also, each scene is written from one perspective but i jump between matt and foggy depending on whose voice i wanted to hear in that moment. hopefully it isn't confusing
> 
> thanks for reading!

Pulling a bit of lint from his suit jacket, Matt titled his head to the side, mildly concerned. 

Foggy’s pulse was too loud and the smell of sweat hanging around him was still stronger than normal, even over the excessive amount of deodorant he was wearing. 

Matt was concentrating so hard on reading the details of Foggy that he jumped when the man in question popped his head in the bedroom and asked, “You ready?”

Matt blinked, trying to clear his head; then nodded with a little smile. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Awesome.” Foggy stepped up to Matt and straightened his tie a little, “I don’t want to miss our reservation.”

Matt let out a breath. That’s what Foggy was nervous about.  “We’re still early.”

“I know, but,” Foggy said, fiddling with Matt’s tie, “I’m pretty sure Marci had to kill a man to get us this table and—”

Matt chuckled a little and took Foggy’s fidgeting hands in his, “Don’t worry about it.”

A rush of air tickled Matt’s face as Foggy let out a long breath. 

“Listen,” Matt squeezed Foggy’s hand between his, “Everything is going to be fine.”

Foggy leaned in a little, and Matt met him half way for a soft, chaste kiss. 

“Promise?” Foggy asked, his words vibrating across Matt’s sensitive skin.

“Cross my heart.” Matt dragged his finger across his chest and Foggy snorted. 

\-- -- --

The restaurant was very, _very_ , fancy; nothing like their usual spots.

“I think one of the waiters is watching to make sure I don’t steal any silverware.” Foggy whispered, making Matt laugh, “I think he can smell how poor I am from here.”

“That’s your own fault then.” Matt said, and Foggy huffed.

“I’m scowling at you.”

Matt calmed down, and shook his head, “Stop worrying about the staff and find something to eat already.”

Foggy’s smirk was clear in his voice as he said, “Fine,” and turned back to the menu. 

Matt ran his fingers over the braille menu again, not really paying attention.

Despite his words, and his jokes, Foggy was still really worked up about something.  

Underneath the table, Matt could feel the vibrations of Foggy bouncing his leg nervously.  Every now and again, he’d could also hear the little tearing sound of Foggy biting his lip.  

A waitress came up to take their order, startling Matt out of his thoughts. 

They ordered, and then they were left alone, without the help of menus to be distracted by. 

“Hey Foggy,” Matt started, and the man in question looked up a little too quickly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Foggy nodded a little too vigorously, “Of course.”

“Okay.” Matt adjusted his glasses; then went to fiddle with the end of his folded up cane. 

Foggy started to chatter again, about the restaurant and how fancy the decorations were.  Matt could tell the ceiling was tall and domed from the way echoes disappeared up into it, but he got Foggy to describe all the little details in an attempt to distract him.

As Foggy kept talking, a thought popped into Matt’s head that made him freeze.

This whole dinner had been Foggy’s idea.

Marci came up with these great reservations out of the blue, just days after Foggy had suggested that a night out might be nice.  And now Foggy was all jittery and nervous. 

Was the fancy dinner all a set-up to let him down easy?  Was Foggy breaking up with him?

That—no—that didn’t make any sense.  The logical part of Matt’s brain knew that that was silly. 

But Foggy was clearly really nervous about _something_.  A doubt started to fester away in the back of Matt’s thoughts. 

He tried to ignore it, letting their conversation continue on normally.  If Foggy had something he needed to say, he would.  It had become very clear to Matt over the years that Foggy was the kind of guy who always spoke his mind. 

Their food arrived, and they figured out why it was so hard to get a reservation to this place. 

“Oh shit,” Foggy made a noise as he took his first bite, “This is so good.” 

Some of the tension drained out of the conversation and Matt let out a breath.  Maybe Foggy just wanted tonight to be perfect.  That would be the kind of thing that he would get worked up about.

After the meal, Foggy insisted they order desert and Matt went along with it.  But, it was then, as they waited for the chocolate mousse cake to arrive that Foggy’s heartbeat really started to go into overdrive and Matt gave up on ignoring how weird this all was. 

Matt titled his head a little, trying to pick up on anything else that may have changed in the room to make Foggy more nervous, a new person or object that could be a signal of some kind.  He couldn’t smell any gunpowder, or anything that might be more dangerous than a steak knife.  But then again, some toxins were—

“Matty,” Foggy started, then took a deep breath, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs nervously, “When we first met on move-in day, I already knew you were going to be my best friend.”

Matt froze, his brow scrunching up in confusion.

“What I didn’t count on was everything else.” Foggy continued, “I never thought I’d ever get the nerve to ask you out, but then,” Foggy let out a nervous chuckle, “you had to go and beat me to it.”

Wait, _was_ Foggy breaking up with him? 

“What’s—?”

 “Let me get through this Matty, please.” Foggy cut him off, and then took another deep breath.

Matt was now more than just concerned.  Foggy had obviously been preparing for this, whatever it was, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  Matt tried to sit still—he had always hated being out of control, not having all the information right in front of him.

“The last few years have been some of the happiest of my life, and—” Foggy hesitated, his hand hovering in the air, then he let out a breath through his nose and reached into his jacket, “Do you remember when we decided to start Nelson and Murdock?”

“Of course.” Matt said, impatient, “Foggy—”

“And you said it sounded like we were getting married?”  Foggy pulled his hand out of his jacket, and a small box was resting in his palm.

Matt stilled. 

“Well,” Foggy nodded his head around a little, his voice becoming just a hair short of giddy, “It got me thinking.”

His chair creaked as Foggy pushed it back and knelt down in front of him.  Matt couldn’t contain his little gasp.

Foggy’s hands shook as he opened the little box, and it took everything in Matt not to start moving right then and there. 

“I’m down on one knee, on your left, with a ring and everything,” Foggy said, a little breathless, “Because I love you Matty.”

Matt reached out, right to Foggy and steadied his hands around the little box.  “I love you too.” Matt’s own heartbeat was matching Foggy’s now. 

Foggy’s skin stretched, and he was smiling, beaming, as he asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course—” Matt leaned in and cupped Foggy’s face in his hands, “Yes.”  He closed the distance between them and brought their lips together. 

Other people in the restaurant started applauding, and Matt could feel Foggy’s face heat up.  But then he let his fingers curl into Foggy’s hair a little, and the people around them didn’t seem to matter quite so much. 

Matt leaned back, but didn’t let go of Foggy just yet.  He rested their foreheads together and let out a breathy laugh.  “For a moment there, I thought you were breaking up with me.”

Foggy’s eyelashes fluttered, “Oh shit, Matt, I—God no, never—”

“I know, calm down.” Matt sat back in his chair and took the little ring box from Foggy’s hands.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Foggy stood up, his knees creaking, just a little, from kneeling.  He gave Matt one more kiss to drive the point home; Matt smiled into his lips.  

As Foggy got back to his chair, Matt took the ring out of its box and slipped it on.  The metal was cool against his skin, and he smiled as he twisted it around his finger. 

“I got it done special because I know how sensitive your skin is.” Foggy said, “It’s dark silver, and has a little bit of a thinner band.” He was visibly calmer now, but still rambling, obviously coming off of an adrenaline high, “Karen confirmed that it was stylish.”

“Good to hear.” Matt chuckled and reached across the table to rest his hands atop Foggy’s, “It’s perfect.”

\-- -- --

“Okay, Matt, I love you dearly, but I don’t know if this was worth it.”

“What are you saying Foggy?” Matt laughed, “You’re going to call off the wedding over a few gifts?”

“This is more than a few Matt.” Foggy said, surveying their little office, “We could open our own bakery at this point.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Karen said as she tried to find a place to set the pie Mrs. Lewis from down the block had just dropped off, “Look at how many people care about you guys.”  Karen ended up putting it on her own desk, right next to the stack of congratulations cards.

“I think I have to agree with Karen,” Matt said, snagging a cookie from the plate on top of their printer.

Foggy pouted, “Why can’t they just make a donation to our bank account instead.” He turned to Karen, “Do you know how expensive weddings are these days?” Karen giggled at him, as he kept going, “Flowers alone could bankrupt us.”

“Foggy, Foggy, listen,” Matt came over and found him, resting his hands on his hips, “It’ll be fine.”

After a moment, he stopped pouting and reached up to rest his arms on Matt’s shoulders, like they were middle schoolers at the Spring Formal.  “Fine.” He leaned up and kissed Matt, smiling into his lips. 

“Hey, this is a respectable place of business,” Karen said from her desk, unable to keep the smile off her face even as she scolded them, “Break it up.”

“Sorry Karen.” Matt said, all sheepish and adorable.  Foggy’s heart swelled at the expression and he stole one last chaste kiss before letting his adorable fiancé go.  

“So we’re respectable now, huh?” He said, going over to sit on the edge of Karen’s desk.

“Look at the people you’ve helped.” Karen gestured at all the baked goods and homespun gifts around the room, “I’d call that a good days work.”

“Sure, but where are the paralegals, the glass and steel?” Foggy waved his arm around grandly, “The functional Wi-fi?”

“Someday,” Matt said from where he was leaning against the wall, “You’ll see.”

“I’ll hold you to that Murdock.” Foggy shook his finger at Matt and slipped off of Karen’s desk.

Matt chuckled as he stepped away from the wall and headed towards his own office.

\-- -- --

The ceremony was beautiful.     

Foggy, having woken up that day already knowing he was going to cry _at least_ once, somehow managed to keep it together as he walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Matt. 

Afterwards though, when his dad had clapped Matt on the shoulder and tried to hold back his own tears, Foggy had lost it.   

Of course, Matt already had a pack of tissues in his jacket.

“Stop showing me up.  It’s my wedding day.” Foggy said, sniffling as he pulled a tissue free.

“Sorry.” Matt chuckled. 

“Be glad that I love you.”

Matt smiled and leaned in a little bit more.  “Of course I am.”

“That’s the correct answer, good job.”

Matt snorted.  “Is this a test?”

“Maybe so.” Foggy couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.  He looked over at Matt, all dressed up and practically glowing, and let out a deep breath.

Matt cocked his head to the side.  “What?”

Foggy shook his head.

“I’m just,” Foggy dabbed at his eyes again, “I’m just really happy.”

Matt hummed and leaned his forehead against Foggy’s.  “Me too.”

\-- -- --

The creak of the window sliding open cut through the silent apartment like a gunshot.  Matt cursed a little under his breath, and waited, his pulse pounding in his ears, to make sure Foggy hadn’t heard it.

When nothing happened, Matt slipped into the apartment, landing silently on the floor and carefully closing the window behind him. 

Once he was back inside his own home, he fell back against the wall, closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. 

His knuckles stung, his ribs ached, and the cut along his brow was still bleeding a little.  But the pain was overshadowed by the thrill coursing through him, reminding him of what he had done. 

It was all still sinking in, the memory of his fists hitting flesh, breaking bones, of the fear pouring off of the man cowering under him. 

Matt huffed out another breath, and then pulled the strip of black cloth off of his face.  For a moment, he just held it in his hands, running his fingers over the rough fabric. 

Adrenaline, fear, anger; he had expected those.  But there was also tangible force rising in him that he couldn’t even name, the burning in the back of his throat that wouldn’t go away.

 A sound from the bedroom sent his heart rate spiking again and he stood up at full attention.

Foggy had woken up and was running his hand over the cold sheets on Matt’s side of the bed.  When he didn’t find Matt, he made a surprised noise and started to look around the room. 

Not needing any more warning, Matt started to hastily unwrap his hands.

Foggy got up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.  “Matt?” He called.

Shucking off the black shirt while trying to calculate how much time he had until Foggy stepped into the living room, Matt bundled it all up and tried to find a hiding place. 

There, the wardrobe in the corner.  Matt pulled it open and stuffed his black clothes behind the box with his father’s old boxing stuff.

He had barely closed the wardrobe doors when Foggy came shuffling out of the bedroom and squinted at him.  “Matt?  What are you doing?”

“I—um—”

“Wait,” Foggy’s pulse quickened and he stepped quickly over to him, “Are you bleeding?” Foggy reached up to inspect the cut above Matt’s brow, “What the hell happened?”

“I fell.” Matt managed to say, wincing as Foggy’s fingers brushed the tender skin, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well your plan is a failure then, because I am definitely worried now.” Foggy grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the bathroom, “How did you fall in our apartment?  Were you sleep-walking?  Or was the furniture not where it should be?  Did—”

“I just wasn’t paying attention.” Matt let himself get sat down on the edge of the tub. 

Foggy grabbed a clean washcloth and started running it under warm water.  “Well, be more careful in the future or I’ll get you one of those dogs.”

Matt huffed as Foggy started to dab at the cut.  “I don’t need a dog.”

“I saw on the news that they train them to get you food and call the police now,” Foggy said, “Maybe I’ll just get one for myself.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think that’s illegal.”

“I’ve got a blind husband; why aren’t I allowed to have a cool helper-dog around the house?”

“Foggy.”

 “Fine.  No dog.” Foggy leaned back and inspected his work.

Matt smiled a little, titled his head, “That bad huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Foggy started looking for their first aid kit, “Hideous.  You’ve ruined your face forever.”

“Can I persuade you to stick around?” Matt brought his hands to Foggy’s hips and guided him closer, in-between Matt’s legs, “Despite my horrible face?”

Foggy hummed and peeled the wrapper off a Band-Aid, “Maybe.” He pressed it gently over the cut, “No more scaring me half to death in the middle of the night though.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Matt said, “I’m fine.  Really.”

Foggy let out a breath, and brushed some of Matt’s hair out of his face.  Matt leaned into the touch, some of the jittery energy running through his veins starting to calm down.    

He had helped someone tonight, really actually helped a little girl. 

There were other people out there who needed help too, all those who had been let down by the system.  Matt could hear them every night, calling out in the dark.

But what about Foggy?

Matt reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of his husband’s wrists, feeling for his calming pulse.  Pulling on Foggy’s hand, Matt pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.  “I’ll be more careful in the future.  I promise.”

“Good.” Foggy brought his free hand up, so he could cup Matt’s cheek, “I don’t know what I’d do without you Matty.”

Unsure of how to respond to that without outright lying again, Matt just breathed out and pressed a gentle kiss to Foggy’s palm, hoping that that it said everything he couldn’t.   

\-- -- --

“The guy who saved me,” Karen pulled the blanket wrapped around her shoulders a little tighter, “he was wearing a mask.”

“Like Captain America?” Foggy asked, sitting next to her on the couch, leaving enough space between them so that she wouldn’t feel crowded.

“No,” She shook her head and looked up from the floor, “There weren’t any symbols or words or anything.  He was in all black, and came out of nowhere.”

Matt was standing in front of them, trying not to show how much pain he was in.  Turns out, falling from a second story window _hurt_. 

“Did he say anything?” Matt adjusted his footing to take some pressure off his throbbing hip. 

“When he took the Union Allied files, he—” Karen was shivering, just a little, “he said he was going to get it to the right people—let everyone know the truth.”

There was a little pause as everyone digested this newest piece of insanity. 

It had been a long few days for the law offices of Nelson and Murdock. 

Karen had found some files tying one of the reconstruction firms to massive pension fraud.  A week later, she had woken up in her apartment in the pool of blood from her dead informant, and things had not stopped escalating from there.

“You’re staying here tonight.” Foggy reached out and brought a gentle hand to Karen’s shoulder, “And you can stay as long as you need, okay?”

She nodded, and tried to smile a little.  “Thanks.”

“We’ll make up the couch.” Matt said, “and you can take the bed.”

Karen tried to protest, but Foggy cut her off.

“The couch folds out,” Foggy said, gentle but leaving no room for debate, “We’ll survive.”

Clearly too tired to argue, Karen just nodded and stared off at a spot on the floor. 

Foggy found an old t-shirt and some sweatpants for Karen to wear to bed, while Matt made up the fold-out couch.  Once Karen was settled, they both collapsed onto the tired spring cushions. 

Rain pattered against the windows and Foggy’s chest rose and fell next to him, creating a calming white noise that Matt let wash over him.

He found his husband’s hand and curled their fingers together. 

“Two years ago all of this would have seemed crazy.” Foggy finally broke the silence.

Matt hummed and carefully rolled onto his good side so he could wrap his arms around Foggy.  He could still remember the way their whole building shook, windows shattering around them as spaceships literally ripped their way through the city.

He had been so sure that they were going to die.  He had held Foggy close, shielding him under a table, and prayed under his breath for what felt like years until the chaos went quiet. 

In end, he had to have a big piece of glass taken out of his back, but they were fine. 

The world was saved, and everyone moved on.

The rain pattered against the windows outside and Matt settled his ear against Foggy’s chest so his heartbeat would be so loud it could almost block out everything else. 

“Do you ever think about,” Foggy started to run his fingers through Matt’s hair, “how many people out there could just put on a mask and do whatever they want?”

“I don’t know.” Matt bit his lip, “Not really.”

“It seems like every time you turn on the TV there’s someone new.” Foggy said, “And now this guy, in our own backyard…it’s scary.”

“Scary?” Matt quietly, selfishly, asked. 

“Just because some of them want to help us doesn’t mean that there are others who just want to have some fun, help themselves, y’know.” Foggy shrugged and Matt had to bite back his wince as a sore muscle was pulled the wrong way.

“I guess you’re right.” Matt said, the lies weighing on his chest feeling heavier than ever.

Foggy hummed again, but was clearly half-way to falling asleep at this point. 

His breathing evened out and Matt finally let out a long, tired sigh.  He already knew sleep would be hard to come by tonight, so he just let the sound of the rain wash over him.

\-- -- --

The couch beneath him felt different against his skin.

Matt didn’t know where he was, but he knew it wasn’t home.

He tried to sit up, but a burning pain shot up his side and he fell back, gasping from the shock. 

“Woah there buddy.” A woman, a stranger, came up to the couch and pushed him back into the cushions, “Don’t move.”

“Who—” Matt realized he could feel heat against his face and his hand flew up to find that his mask was gone.  He breathed in sharply, trying to find which window had the fire escape in this apartment.

“Calm down,” The woman was practically holding him down now, “I’m not calling the cops or anything, and if you don’t stop you’re going to reopen the big laceration above your hip.”

Matt finally stopped struggling, too exhausted and in too much pain to do much else.  He leaned back and breathed through his nose. 

The last thing he remembered was being stabbed by the mugger he was trying to corner.  He should have sensed the knife hidden in the guy’s boot but he had been too slow—

“Do you have a name, guy?” The woman sat back on her heels and watched him.  When he didn't reply, she huffed and nodded.  “I’ll call you Mike then.”

“Mike?”

“An ex-boyfriend.”

Matt huffed out a chuckle, and the women’s lips quirked up into a smirk.  Tilting his head around, Matt focused in on the details of the apartment. 

“You’re a doctor?” He said, gently touching the bandage over his wound.

Claire breathed in sharply, “Nurse.”

“And do you have a name?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so you get to know mine, but not the other way around?” 

“The less you know about me the better.”

The woman pursed her lips at him.  “I’ll tell you my name if you tell me why your eyes don’t respond to light.”

Matt swallowed.  “I’m blind.”

She hummed, her brow scrunching together.

“An accident when I was a kid.  I got some chemicals splashed in my eyes.”

The woman looked away, absently fiddling with her necklace.  After a beat, she turned back.  “Claire.  My name is Claire.”

\-- -- --

Footsteps echoed throughout the hall as Foggy checked his watch one more time. 

He glanced to the door to the courtroom, then up and down the hall.  Swearing under his breath, Foggy tucked his hair back behind his ears and gave up waiting.

Karen gave him a confused look as he took his seat next to her.  Foggy just shook his head and straightened out his files. 

Their client, a real creep named Healy, leaned around Karen and asked, “And where is Mr. Murdock?”

Foggy smiled through his frustration and put on a good face for the judge.  “Family emergency.”

It wasn’t totally a lie. 

First it was his sister’s birthday party, then an early meeting with a client, now a _court date_.  When Foggy finally got his hands on his husband—

The doors to the courtroom banged open and everyone looked to see who it was. 

Foggy let out a tense breath and watched Matt quickly make his way down the aisle to them.

“I’m sorry your honor.” Matt said, folding up his cane and taking his seat next to Foggy.

“Are you good?” Foggy whispered, trying to smother down his frustration.

“I’m fine—”

The judge called them all to attention and Foggy had to bite back his comment.  Turning to the front of the courtroom, Foggy caught a spot of color out of the corner of his eye.

Doing a double-take, he squinted at the yellow bruises peaking over the top of Matt’s white collar.

Now was not the time or place to contemplate what that could mean, but Foggy couldn’t hold back the bit of dread that dropped through his chest at the sight.

Matt later explained that he tripped on the sidewalk the other day; he apologized and said he would be more careful.

In the end, they won the case and the bruise healed.  But Foggy couldn’t seem to shake either of them. 

\-- -- --

Wilson Fisk.

The name was already a curse.

Matt stared at the body in front of him.  Healy killed himself instead of facing the repercussions of saying that name aloud. 

Curling his hands into fists as his side, Matt swore to find the man behind that name if it was the last thing he did.

“Wilson Fisk.”  It felt heavy, acidic, on Matt’s tongue.  Like blood.  “Wilson Fisk.”

\-- -- --

“We’re going to help you Mrs. Cardenas,” Foggy said, smiling at the sweet, older woman sitting across from them in the conference room, “We’ll call you as soon as we’ve talked to Tully’s lawyer.  And,” he flourished his hand as he remembered his cousin, “I’ll send Walter over to look at the drywall.”

Elena smiled, her eyes watering with emotion as she looked between Karen, Matt and him. “<Oh thank you, all of you.> Thank you.”

“We’re glad to help.” Matt smiled softly at her, and Foggy’s warmed at the sight.  It was good to see him back in his element, not sleeping off another bad night or falling down a set of stairs. 

Karen stood up and went to get Elena a card with all their numbers on it.  Foggy got up too and walked Elena towards the door.

“You have a good heart Señor Foggy,” Elena took his hands in hers, “You’re wife is very lucky.”

Foggy blushed despite himself, “Oh.” He laughed a little and looked over at Matt and Karen, who smirked back, “I’m actually married to, uh, Mr. Murdock.”

“Oh!” Elena brought a hand to her mouth and looked to Matt, before she turned back to Foggy and smiled, “He is twice as lucky then, to work together too.”

Foggy broke into a toothy grin, deciding that he was already in love with this little old lady.

After Elena left, assuring them that she would be telling all her neighbors all about the great Foggy Nelson and his friends, Foggy went back to his office with a little skip in his step. 

“Can we adopt her?” Foggy asked, “Or hire her or something?”

“I think you may have some competition.” Karen said to Matt, as she sat down with her computer to type up her notes from the meeting. 

“Maybe that’s why she brought up a wife,” Matt smirked as Foggy snorted, “To see if you were taken?”

“Do people do that a lot?” Karen looked up from her computer, her curiosity peaked, “Assume you’re not married to each other?”

“It’s certainly not the first time.”  Foggy leaned back into his chair and shrugged, “I thought word had gotten around at this point, but who knows.”

“Well,” Karen pointed to Matt’s hand, “you’re not wearing your wedding band.”

Matt’s brows furrowed together, his fingers went to his left hand.  Foggy leaned forward and could now clearly see the pale patch of empty skin that he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Or you’re engagement ring.” Foggy looked up to Matt’s face, which was suddenly drained of color, “What happened to your rings?”

“I—” Matt had gone totally stiff, “I don’t know.”  He started to feel all of his pockets, before he turned and went into his own office.

Foggy watched him, pulling out drawers and moving around all his papers, and then he turned to Karen and tilted his head in question.

She just shrugged and looked back to Matt, clearly concerned. 

After a few more moments, Matt came back into Foggy’s office, breathing a little harder.  “I must have left them at home.”

“Why—” Foggy started before Karen quickly stood up.

“I’ll let you guys have some space.” She said, moving to leave the office.

“Karen, wait.” Matt took a step back so he was in the middle of the doorway, “It’s not—” He let out a breath, “I took them off before I went to Fogwell’s last night.”

Foggy let out a long, relieved breath of air through his nose.  The assumption, the clear leap of logic that his brain had been trying to make, was finally shut down. 

“It’s safer to box without them.” Foggy said.  Matt’s eyes widened in surprise and Karen looked between them, confused.

“We spend 90% of our time together Matt,” Foggy shrugged, “It’d be pretty hard to hide your hobbies from me.”

Matt made a weird gasping noise, as Karen looked back to him.

“You…box?”

Matt nodded, his fingers nervously massaging with the bit of skin usual covered by cool metal, “The owner trained my dad, he holds the bag for me when I—” Matt was talking too fast, but Karen cut him off by putting a hand on his arm and squeezing reassuringly.

“It’s okay.” She said, soft, “You don’t need to explain.”  She looked over her shoulder at Foggy, “Not anymore anyway.”

“I think Karen was about to kick your ass Murdock.” Foggy said, managing to smile again.

“I think you’re right.” Some color returned to Matt’s face.

Karen huffed, silently laughing at both of them and went back to her desk.

Matt hesitated a moment longer, still twisting the skin of his finger.

“Y’know,” Foggy said, watching him, “The longer you do that, the guiltier you look.”

“I just,” Matt ran his tongue over his chapped lips, “I wanted to make sure you understood.”

“Matty,” Foggy shook his head, “You’re not a great liar.  I’m fine.”

Chuckling a little at that, Matt still looked supremely uncomfortable.  But he finally managed to shake whatever had been holding him in place and went back into his own office. 

Foggy stared at his husband’s back and felt his smile grow brittle.

Rather than let his imagination run wild, Foggy swallowed down the worry rising in him and dove into his work. 

\-- -- --

Blood splattered to the floor of the shower and Matt brought a hand to his lip, realizing just how badly it had split.

At least he hadn’t lost any teeth yet, a distinct possibility that he was desperately trying to avoid. 

Matt turned his face up into the stream of water and let it wash over him, trying to drown out everything else for just a moment.

Claire’s screams still rang in his ears.  The sensations of it clung to his skin, her terror seeped into his bones.

Matt had gotten there in time, managed to take out half a dozen of the Russians and get her to a safe apartment, but it had been far too close for comfort. 

All of his good intentions would have been for nothing if she had died for something as simple as his name. 

Shuddering, Matt pressed his forehead against the tile wall of the shower. 

After making sure he had scrubbed all the blood off of the shower floor, Matt slipped into a clean pair of pajamas.  He waited for a few breaths to make sure Foggy was asleep, before he silently made his way into the bedroom. 

Settling into the mattress, a deep sigh rattled out of Matt’s frame. 

He rolled over and listened to Foggy sleep, counting his breaths in and out. 

Claire knew next to nothing about him.  She didn’t have a name or an address or anything, and she had been kidnapped and beaten and nearly killed. 

If Foggy—

Matt couldn’t even let the possibility play out in his head.

No amount of confession would ever be able to clean that blood off his soul. 

\-- -- --

“Hey Matty, it’s me.” Foggy pressed the phone to his ear as he put the last dish back into the kitchen cabinet, “I don’t know what you’re doing that’s so important you can’t pick up the phone.  It better be good.”

Foggy turned from the dishes and leaned against the counter, “Tonight’s the dinner at my parents.  With everything going on with Elena’s case, I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about this one.”

Foggy ran a hand through his hair, “I know you’ve haven’t been sleeping very good recently, so we can leave early, but 65 is a big one.” Foggy moved the phone to the other side of his face.

“I’m thinking you could wear that new shirt from your birthday?   And—oh wait,” Foggy moved into the bedroom, “I think I remember a pair of pants that would look good with it.”

Pulling open the bottom drawer of Matt’s dresser, Foggy started to dig through his pants looking for the pair that he was thinking of. 

“Call me back when you get this.  Please.” Foggy let out a breath through his nose, “Love you; talk later.” Foggy hung up the phone and put it back into his pants pocket.

Digging around in the drawer, Foggy shook his head.  None of these were right but he couldn’t remember where he had last seen the grey ones he was looking for.   

Underneath a stack of barely-worn jeans, Foggy found a pair of black sweatpants.  He paused, and let out a breath.  He could tell from here that they were dirty; the black fabric was spotted with dirt and stains. 

Foggy pulled them free of the very back of the drawer and brought them to his nose.  Grimacing at the stench he found, he tossed the pants in the direction of the dirty laundry, fully intending to properly put them in the basket once he had finished his search. 

Already turned back to the drawer, Foggy heard a loud smack as the sweatpants hitting the floor.  He stopped and looked over, his brows drawing together in confusion.

After a moment of staring at the pants, he got up and went over to inspect them, holding them out in front of him.  He reached into the pockets, looking for whatever Matt had forgotten about. 

Sometimes that man could get so preoccupied with—

Foggy’s hand found something plastic and about the size of his palm.  He pulled it out and stared at it, a sense of unease already setting in his gut as his brain tried to process why the hell Matt had a flip phone when he had a perfectly good smart phone like the rest of the normal world.

It was a burner phone, his brain finally supplied; a thought that was somehow both helpful and _very_ unhelpful at the same time. 

Foggy let the sweatpants fall back to the floor, and fiddled with the phone.  He knew he probably shouldn’t look—it was Matt’s after all—but his curiosity was tugging at him, that nagging need to _know_ that had always gotten him in trouble for asking too many questions. 

He let out a breath. 

With a simple flick of his thumb the phone was opened.  Nothing special about the screen background or anything, it was all the default stuff he could remember from 2008.

Foggy closed it, trying to pretend like the lack of secret-second-family wallpaper photo was enough. 

It wasn’t.

Foggy opened the contacts menu and found only one, unnamed number.  His eyes narrowing at the screen, Foggy clicked over to the calls library.  Again, it was only the one number, called every few days in the middle of the night. 

Sweat was beginning to gather at the back of Foggy’s neck and across his palms.  All he was doing was standing here and pressing buttons, but the creeping realization that Matt was—

Stop.

Foggy shook his head and closed the phone, throwing onto the bed.  He was sure that Matt would have a great explanation for this and they’d both laugh about it when he got home.

Foggy threw the sweatpants into the dirty laundry hamper and went over to finish looking for those dress pants.

He lasted all of 30 seconds before he was back, sitting on the edge of his mattress and clicking into the text messages.

There was only one conversation, between Matt and the unknown number.  His breath already quickening, Foggy opened it.

His eyes flashed over the words.

For a moment, everything slowed down; the movement of the Earth took its sweet time as Foggy’s heart grew heavier, falling like lead into the pit of his stomach. 

One of his hands moved of its own accord to his face, covering his mouth as a huge gust of air rushed out of his lungs.

He kept scrolling like a man possessed; he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. 

“No.”

Foggy must really be losing control of things; he didn’t remember saying that until he heard it echo in his own ears. 

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he slapped the phone shut and threw it across the bed.  Curling in on himself, face in hands, elbows on knees, Foggy let out a pitiful sob.

Matt was cheating on him. 

The past few months flashed before his eyes again, this time in terrifying clarity.  It had all been right in front of his face this whole time, but he was too dumb to pick up on it.  All the late nights and missed calls—shit, even the strange bruises.  The thought made him sick.

Foggy’s breathing started picking up again, but this time it was anger, white hot, that was building up inside him.

Sitting up, he scrubbed his fingers across his scalp and pushed all of his hair back, out of his face.  He took two long, shaky breaths and stood up. 

In a few quick steps he was at the closet, pulling his suitcase out of its spot in the corner. 

\-- -- --

Before he even stepped into the apartment, Matt knew something was wrong.

The smell of salt clung to Foggy’s skin, like he had been crying, but he had also clearly taken a very hot shower within the last hour or so.

Something had happened.  The unknown clawed at Matt, as his keys scraped in the lock.  

As Matt stepped into their apartment, putting his cane and keys in their spots by the door, Foggy’s heart rate picked up.

Taking a breath, Matt put on a smile and walked into the apartment proper.  “You home, Foggy?”

There wasn’t any response at first, and then Foggy stepped out of the bedroom, his suitcase in one hand. 

Matt cocked his head to one side, unable to hide his confusion. “Foggy?” he asked again, quieter.

“We need to talk.”

An icy chill ran down Matt’s spine.  Foggy’s voice didn’t even sound right, all cold and angry. 

“About—” Matt fumbled a little, his hands fidgeting around and looking for something to do, “About what?”

Foggy’s suitcase landed on the floor with a too-loud thud. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Matt froze, his pulse spiking.  “You do?”

“I bet you thought you were so sneaky.” Foggy was gesturing towards him, walking in a slow circle, closing in, “Getting a separate phone just to text your little fling.”

Wait.

Matt’s brows crunched together, “What are you talking about?”

A tense breath of air left Foggy’s lungs; he stepped forward, grabbed Matt’s hand, and slapped his burner phone into it.  Matt’s fingers curled around it. 

“I can explain—” Matt stepped forward, reached out to comfort his husband on instinct, but Foggy quickly backed away. 

“Do not touch me.” His words were sharp, cutting. “I trusted you.  I believed you!  Even when I knew something weird was going on, even when it should have been obvious that you were cheating, I trusted you!”

Foggy stopped and tried to catch his breath.

“I trusted you and you used that to mess around behind my back.”

Matt swallowed back his own shock and managed to say, “I would never cheat on you, you have to know that.”

“I don’t know what to think.” Foggy reached out and grabbed the phone from Matt’s grasp, flipping it open.  He clicked around for a moment then put a hand on his hip.

“‘Where are you?’” Foggy was reading the texts, the ones between him and Claire.  Matt’s face crumbled as he realized just how deep the pit he had dug himself into was. 

“‘I need you tonight. Badly.’” Foggy smelled like tears about to be shed, but it was his voice, cracking and watery that Matt couldn’t take, “‘I’ll be over as soon as I’m out of work.’” Each new phrase was like another punch, overwhelming him.

“Foggy—”

“No, no wait,” Foggy’s voice was strained, almost hysterical, “The next part is my favorite: ‘What about your husband?’” Matt could tell Foggy was staring at him, could feel his gaze burning through him, “‘He’s already asleep in the other room, I’ll meet you on the roof.’”

Foggy’s hand fell to his side, still holding the phone.  “The roof, Matt?” Foggy shook his head, “Who the hell does that?”

“Foggy listen to me—” He was pleading, desperate.  The best part of his life, the one stable, normal, thing he had left was being ripped from his hands without any warning. 

“No!” Foggy slapped the phone shut and threw it onto the coffee table, “I’m done listening, to the excuses and the lies and all that shit!” He turned and grabbed his bag, “I’m leaving.”

The world was crumbling down around Matt and he had no idea what to do.  The truth seemed like the only option, but that came with its own lies, years and years of them.  What would Foggy do when he found out just how much Matt had been keeping from him, since the very beginning? 

The pounding of Foggy’s heartbeat filled Matt’s head.  Even now, racing with anger and pain, the sound was still so achingly familiar Matt could recognize every pulse. 

Matt would give up everything just to keep that heart beating; to save this man from the horrors that hide out in the shadows of their city.  But it wasn’t the darkness out there that was putting Foggy through hell right now—that blood was on Matt’s hands.

In that moment, the truth of it hit him and almost took his breath away. 

He had hurt Foggy. 

Without realizing it, he had become just as dangerous as the thugs that he beat in alleys every night.  Foggy took in a shuttering, struggling breath and Matt’s heart broke knowing that he was the sole cause of that pain. 

Underneath it all, Foggy’s heart kept sounding its rhythm, a constant reminder that no matter how much damage he had already caused, Foggy was still alive.  As long as that stayed true, nothing else mattered. 

Matt had fallen in love with this man, this heartbeat, and he wasn’t sure what he would do without either of them in his life. 

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Matt knew what he had to do.  Foggy had already laid the groundwork, now Matt just had to play along, let Foggy hate him, get over him and move on.

All he ever wanted to do was protect Foggy. 

“Her name is Claire.”

The words hung in the air, suspended over a deadly silence.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Foggy wasn’t yelling anymore.  He sounded tired.  Defeated.

“She’s a nurse and we…when…” Matt wasn’t sure what to say.  These lies weren’t like the others; they were twisted and sharp and _hurt_. 

“When what, Matt?” Foggy shook his head, “When I wasn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“No.” Matt’s words were soft, a whisper that Foggy couldn’t hear. 

“It would help if you were ever home, instead of off doing god-knows what with your—she had to be a lady huh?” Foggy ground his teeth, a nasty, old habit.  “Had to be some hot chick?”

“I just—” Matt’s hands clenched uselessly at this sides, looking for something to punch, something to save him from this terrible spiral, “I’m trying to protect you.”

Foggy let out a horrible, gurgled laugh.  “Oh really?  That’s what you’re doing?  And what, exactly, am I am being protected from?”

 “From me.” Matt’s nails were biting into his palms, “And my life, and all the crap that’s been following me since the day I was born.”

There was an excruciating pause; Matt listened to Foggy’s heartbeat to try and drown out his own ragged breathing. 

“Did it ever occur to you that I actually want to be part of your life?  That I was the one who asked you to stick around?” Air rushed passed Foggy’s hands as he gestured around the room, “If you wanted to keep me away, you shouldn’t have agreed to marry me!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

The words were like glass, shredding him from the inside out, but that wasn’t even the worst part.  No, the worst part was the way Foggy’s whole frame seemed to collapse in on itself.

“Matt…”

His name left Foggy’s lips as more whisper than words.  It was a call for mercy that he couldn’t answer, even as his body screamed at him to move, to do anything to stop this madness. 

There was a long silence, and then Foggy hefted his bag and started for the door.  He only stopped briefly in the doorway, to say, “Don’t bother coming into the office tomorrow.”

In seconds, he was gone and halfway down the stairs. 

Paralyzed, Matt listened to Foggy’s heartbeat for as long as he could.  All the way out into the street, Matt could hear the constant pulse of his husband’s heart pushing blood through his veins. 

Too soon, the sound was swallowed up by the city.

Matt fell to his knees and let out a sob. 

\-- -- --

Not even bothering to drop his bag at Karen’s place like he had planned; Foggy hightailed-it directly to the closest bar and got absolutely smashed. 

Karen found him eventually, dragged him from his barstool and into a cab with her.  He really wasn’t all there at that point, more blubbery mess than man, and he cried into her shoulder the whole ride to her apartment. 

She helped him out of his suit and into bed, leaving a glass of water on the bedside table and telling him quietly to try and drink some of it. 

Before she left, she gave him a hug and softly kissed his temple. 

“It’s going to be okay.” She said, looking him right in his eyes. 

Foggy knew it was a lie, but compared to some of the stuff that had been dumped on his plate today, one little fib wasn’t the end of the world.

After curling up under a bundle of covers, he fell into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep.

\-- -- --

The crack of bones breaking filled Matt’s ears, followed moments later by screams.

Matt shoved the man against a dumpster and got right in his face, spitting blood as he asked, “Tell me about who you work for.  Tell me about Wilson Fisk.”

The man confessed what he knew.  It was nothing important, all stuff Matt had heard before.  He threw the man to the ground with a frustrated growl, taking a vicious satisfaction in the sound of broken bones grinding against each other, tearing at the man’s insides.

Matt was drowning, in guilt and blood; a fiery rage had ignited within him and was cutting a path through the low-life of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Somewhere out there was the person who had pushed Matt to this point and taken everything that had ever mattered away from him. 

Matt was going to find that person and punish them, for the violence he had unleashed in this city, and, even more than that, for what they had made him do to Foggy. 

Spitting out a mouthful of coppery blood, Matt turned to the nearest fire escape.  The freezing metal cut into his hands and his muscles burned as he hauled himself up the side of the building, but he ignored it all. 

Nothing would ever hurt as bad as the memory of tearing Foggy’s heart out with his own two hands.    

\-- -- --

When Foggy woke up, he had a killer hangover, a sick, empty feeling in his gut, and a bunch of missed calls from his parents.

“Shit.” He took the aspirin that Karen had left for him on the bedside table and drank the whole glass of water.  Then, he picked up his phone.   

“Hey Mom, it’s me.”

Foggy winced at her volume and tried to cut into her worried rant.    

“Mom, Mom, listen.  I’m sorry.  I should have called last night.  Matt—” Foggy bit his lip, “He got sick, he was just, uh, throwing up everywhere—I know, I know.” Foggy scrubbed a hand through his hair, “Listen, I’m not feeling so hot myself, I just wanted to apologize—Okay Mom, calm down, it’s not the plague.”

After promising to take care of himself and go immediately back to bed, Foggy was finally able to get his mom to calm down a little.  They said their goodbyes and Foggy hung up.

For a moment, he stared at his phone.  The wallpaper was, of course, a picture of him and Matt from their first wedding anniversary, kissing behind their frozen piece of cake. 

God, that was just a few months ago. 

Foggy flopped back onto the bed, letting his phone bounce away from him.  He draped an arm across his eyes and let out a long breath. 

Yesterday, there had been a moment between drinks when he had distant thought that this was the bottom—that it wasn’t possible for him to feel more miserable than he did in that moment. 

Now, alone in a strange bed with a headache pounding in his skull and the sinking feeling that life as he knew it was over, Foggy cursed himself for being so naïve. 

\-- -- --

“What the hell have you been going up against recently?” Claire asked, pulling on her surgical gloves, “You look like you lost a fight with a wood chipper.”

“I need information.” Matt winced as Claire applied an alcohol swab to the deep cut on his back. 

“I sure hope it’s important information.”

Matt didn’t say anything else, just focused in on the pain of the needle and stitches.

He had gone by the office this morning, just to pick up some of the Fisk files with addresses and names he needed.  Foggy’s side of the office had smelled like Karen’s shampoo; he had obviously gone to stay with her. 

It made sense—if he had gone to his family there would have been questions and it all would have inevitably made it back to his parents.  Then whatever semblance of peace that they still had in their life would have hit the fan.

Karen hadn’t said anything yet.  In fact, Matt hadn’t even seen her since the fight. 

The silence was worse than if she had showed up at his apartment and yelled at him.  She knew that he had fucked up something special, and she seemed intent on letting him stew it in for as long as possible. 

It hurt, the thought of both of his best friends hating him, but it was necessary.  They’d get over him eventually, and get to keep living their lives far away from him and his demons.    

“Matt?”

He realized Claire had asked him a question, and shook his head. “Sorry.” Matt sat up and flexed his back around a little to test the new stitches.

Claire put her hands on her hips. “How are you explaining all of these to your husband?”

“He hasn’t seen them.”

The skin of Claire’s forehead scrunched together.  “Mind if I ask why?”

“He left.”

Claire stopped packing up her stuff.

“He thinks I’m having an affair.  With you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” She rounded on him, hands on her hips, “What?”

“I was in a hurry one night and got sloppy.  He found my burner phone, and taken out of context…” Matt shrugged, as Claire let out a deep sigh and threw her hands up.

“Why didn’t you explain?”

Matt ducked his head and rotated his shoulder a few times.  Claire waited and watched, until she let out a breath and shook her head.  “You didn’t even try to fight it, did you?”

It was a question, but it was clear that Claire already knew exactly what the answer was. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” Claire sat down heavily in the chair next to him.  “You need a support structure,” the muscles in her face pinched and Matt knew she was giving him some kind of pointed look, “You do understand that, right?”

“I have you.”

“Yeah, and I have a life.” Claire ripped off her blood stained gloves, “And a job and other things I should be doing besides endlessly patching up your sorry ass.  You, on the other hand,” she pointed towards him, “are dealing with too much shit to just bottle it all up.  You need to talk to someone, heal, maybe take a break every once in a while.”

“Fisk doesn’t take breaks.”

Claire let out a tired breath.  “I know.” She watched him for a moment, and then threw her dirty gloves into the trash, “But if you don’t have anyone to talk to about all this stuff you’re going to go crazy.  And if you don’t have someone to go home to, you are going to get yourself killed.  Or worse.”

Matt’s brows scrunched together, “What’s worse than being killed?”

“Losing yourself.  Becoming what you hate.”

Matt’s jaw clenched.  “I know what I’m doing.”

“I sure hope so.” Claire watched him a moment longer, than stood up and finished packing up her bag. 

Matt listened to all the warm, calming sounds that he had come to associate with her.  He stretched his other shoulder a little, and said, “Thank you Claire.”

She hummed a little, and adjusted the strap on her bag.  “Call your husband Matt.   Fix this, before it’s too late.”

Matt turned his head towards the floor, working the muscles of his hands.  He knew what Claire didn’t: it was already too late. 

\-- -- --

“Stop.”

Foggy sighed and Karen put a hand on her hips, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Stop it Foggy, you’re just making it worse.”

Looking over his phone at Karen, Foggy shook his head.  “I’m gathering evidence.  For the divorce attorney.”

“Foggy.” Karen deflated, letting out a deep sigh.  After a moment of consideration, she plopped herself down on the couch next to him and curled into his side. With her head resting on his shoulder, she looked on as he scrolled through photos.

Neither of them dared comment as anniversaries and birthdays and dumb jokes all came and went with a swipe of Foggy’s thumb.  He was working backwards, and had just got to their years in college when he stopped.

Foggy squinted at the photo, expanding it with his fingers and zooming in on Matt’s goofy face. 

He was smiling, but along his jaw there was a deep purple bruise.  At the time, Matt said he had been clipped by a bicycle messenger.  Foggy had believed him and given him a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

Now, Foggy felt himself collapse a little deeper into the couch, ready to be swallowed into nothing.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Karen sat up a little and looked at him.

“I don’t think this was the first time.”

“ _What?”_ Karen grabbed his phone and inspected the bruise.  “I don’t know Foggy, that could be from anything.”

“So you’re saying it doesn’t look like a hickey?”

“Well,” Karen huffed, “Matt doesn’t seem that stupid.”

“We’ve already proved that to be very, totally incorrect,” Foggy said, his voice turned sharp, “But thanks for the input Karen.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on them and Foggy brought both his hands to his face.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay.” Karen was quiet, “I get it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Foggy took one of her hands in his, “I could never be mad at you.”

Karen smiled softly at him, something in her expression growing brittle.  She patted his arm.  “Let’s put the photos away okay?  Try to get some sleep.”

“I’d rather get some drinks.”

“Foggy.”

“Okay, fine.” Foggy let himself get pulled off the couch and into Karen’s guest bed.

Plugging his phone in, Foggy laid down in bed and tried to sleep.

But sleep was elusive, so he just counted the number of photos he could find where Matt had weird bruises instead.

\-- -- --

“Try that.”

Karen turned the tap and after a few sputtering starts, water started to pour out of the faucet. 

Elena shouted with excitement and clapped her hands together.  “Bless you Señor Foggy!” 

Foggy hauled himself out from under the sink.  It had been Karen’s idea to come help out Elena and he was glad that he let himself get pulled along.

It felt really good to be doing something with his hands, helping someone else out.  It reminded him that there was a world outside of his own grief and people to care about other than his cheating husband, who was probably, as he spoke off with his hot girlfriend doing God knows what.

\-- -- --

There was a bomb.

Matt could swear that time slowed down, that the air itself came to a halt with the click and hiss of the fuse being lit.

In that moment, as his breath hung in his lungs like ice, all Matt could seem to think about was the time that Foggy nearly burned their building down by putting tinfoil in the microwave without thinking.

They had lost the microwave and the apartment smelled like fire for a week afterwards. 

\-- -- --

“I will make you dinner.” Elena said as she went to her cupboards and started pulling out food.

Karen tried to object, “Oh, Mrs. Cardenas we couldn’t—”

“No.” Elena shook a finger at them, “It is a gift.  A thank you.”

The little lady was hard to argue with and Foggy soon found himself sitting across from Karen with a fantastic smelling spread of food in front of him.

“Thank you again Mrs. Cardenas, this all looks wonderful.” Foggy smiled up at her, more grateful for her hospitality than he could admit.

“It is my pleasure, Señor Foggy.” Elena smiled back and went to putter around the kitchen some more. 

When Foggy turned back to Karen, she ducked her head to hide her grin. 

“What?” he asked before he started to serve himself some food.

She tried to wave him off. “It’s nothing.”

A significant look from Foggy and she caved.

“It’s just good to see you smile again.” Karen said, watching him with her own small smile, “Makes me feel like there’s hope for us yet.”

Foggy’s heart beat a little extra rhythm in his chest. 

“Us?” he said, raising his glass, “We’re going to take the world by storm.  All those cute singles won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Karen laughed and took up her glass too.

“To us.” She said, beaming just a little brighter.

“To us.” Foggy clinked his glass against hers.

\-- -- --

The blast threw Matt across the pavement. 

His back scrapped across the rough surface when he landed, ripping his shirt and sending searing pain across his skin.

In the numb moments that followed, all his senses were too shocked to pick up on anything besides his thundering pulse and the throb of his back.

He thought of Foggy again, out there in the city, scared, and maybe even hurt.  He thought about the way that Foggy’s voice always seemed brighter when he was smiling.  The sound of the bells on their wedding day. 

Then, the stench of burning flesh and hair hit him, blasting ever other thought out of his head.  He gagged from the force of it and managed to pull himself upright.

From inside the burning remains of the warehouse, Matt picked up a heartbeat.  It wasn’t very strong, but whoever it was, they were definitely still alive.

Without letting himself think about it, Matt stood up and pulled his shirt up over his mouth. 

Enough people had already died tonight; he was going to save this one life no matter who they were.

\-- -- --

For what felt like a long time, Foggy’s whole brain was empty of everything except fear and confusion. 

Then he heard Karen groan next to him and the shattered world came back into sharp focus. 

“Are you okay?” He pulled himself over to her and tried to see if she was bleeding because Jesus Christ there was glass everywhere.  The last time something like this happened Matt had to—

Shit. 

Matt. 

“I’m okay.” Karen was shaking all over but her voice was steady as she tried to brush some of the debris out of her hair. “I’m okay.” She said it again to herself, before her eyes went wide.  “Mrs. Cardenas!” Karen stood up too quickly and stumbled, but Foggy managed to catch her. 

Elena called out from the kitchen and Karen quickly went to get her, Foggy close at her heels even as his brain spiraled. 

Who would be looking out for a random blind guy in all this?  Unless Matt was—if he happened to be with someone, they’d hopeful have the decency to make sure he was okay, but what if he was alone?  Or on the street? Or—

“ _Foggy_.” Karen’s voice cut through his thoughts and he rushed to her side. 

Getting to the hospital was a nightmare but they managed it.  Mrs. Cardenas was bleeding everywhere from a bad cut on her head and Foggy didn’t have time to think about anything else until a nurse was looking her over.

Then, as the adrenaline and chaos of it all began to wear off a little, Foggy realized there was a stabbing pain in side.  Groaning, he shifted his weight and tried to remember if he had got hit by something.

“Oh my god Foggy,” Karen rushed over to him and pulled his jacket back, “You’re bleeding.”

Looking down at the blood seeping through his shirt, Foggy had to hold back a new wave of nausea.

Karen sat him down in a waiting chair and hurried off to flag down another nurse. 

The pain only seemed to be getting worse and for a moment Foggy entertained the thought that he might be dying.  Who knows what organs had been hit?  Or when he’d be able to get help?

It hurt to move but he fumbled around enough to get his phone out of his pocket.  There were approximately a million new messages from family members trying to figure out where he was, but none from Matt.

That was either a bad sign for their failing marriage or a terrible sign for Matt’s current state, and Foggy hated it either way. 

Biting back his fear and the lightning bolts of pain shooting up his side, Foggy dialed Matt’s number and pressed the phone to his ear.

The phone rang and rang but no one ever picked up.  A robot voice told him what number he had reached and Foggy hung up.  He dialed again.

Still no answer.

“Come on Matt, you can’t do this to me.  Not now.” Foggy dialed again.

Nothing.

Grinding his teeth together in equal parts pain and frustration, Foggy finally waited and left a voice mail.

“Matt, it’s me.” He said, “I’m at the hospital with Karen and Elena.  They’re both fine, but I’ve pulled a You and got a big hunk of glass or something in my side.” His palms were starting to get slick with sweat.

“Call me back, please, just so I can know you’re alive.  We can talk later about—everything else, but you’ve got me worried sick.”  Foggy bit his lip, unsure of what else to say.  Anger was useless now with life and death laid so plainly in front of him.  If he had any choice in the matter, Matt would be there with them right now, no matter what he had done.

“Just, call, okay?” Foggy sighed tensely and hung up.    

Next he dialed his mom’s number.  She had obviously been crying when she picked up, but still reassured him that everyone at home was fine.  They just couldn’t get ahold of his Uncle Frank, but Richard was calling up the neighbors to find someone to check on him.

After Foggy let her know he was okay, that doctors were looking him over, she asked a question he should have seen coming. 

“And Matt?” she asked, “Is he okay?”

For some reason it was this, the simple, unfiltered and unbiased concern of his mother, that finally drove it all home for him.

Matt could be dead for all he knew and the last thing they ever did together was fight.  His chest caving in at the thought of it all, Foggy couldn’t find the energy to lie.

“I don’t know—” his voice broke, “I don’t know where he is and he isn’t picking up my calls.  What if—”

“Don’t say it Foggy,” his mother cut in, “Don’t give into that kind of thinking yet.”

His head falling into his hands, Foggy hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut tight.  “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Get yourself safe and healthy,” his mom said, “I’ll get someone to keep calling him.  He’s a smart boy, a tough one, he’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know,” Foggy shook his head, “He’s been acting different recently, I—I don’t know if I know who he is anymore.”

“What do you mean Foggy?” his mother voice grew strained with concern; must be motherly instinct or something.  “What’s he done?”

“He…” Foggy bit his lip as another wave of pain hit him, “I can’t talk about it right now.”

“I love you Foggy.” His mother said insistently, “I love you and we’ll talk soon.  I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Love you too.”

Hopeless and lost, Foggy held his phone to his ear long after his mom had hung up. 

\-- -- --

Another dead body and another name.  A Russian and a banker this time. 

Vladimir made it seem like Owlsley was the linchpin to Fisk’s operation, but Matt couldn’t help but feel cheated. 

It was just another name, another man that he had to find, another obstacle in his way.

Then a vicious ghost from the past showed up and Matt wished he could have just stuck with the banker.

“I always knew you were an idiot.” Stick popped the top off of his beer with the corner of Matt’s kitchen counter, “Marriage is a prison for the weak and stupid.”

Matt let out a breath through his nose, almost laughing at his former mentor’s arrogance, “You’re just jealous, old man.”

“I may be old,” Stick drank some beer and stepped up closer to Matt, “But I’m not jealous of your domestic bullshit.  And I’m not dumb either; I need your help.”

Matt agreed for the sake of Hell’s Kitchen.  The Yakuza were part of Fisk’s plan and whatever they were bringing into the city was apparently dangerous enough for Stick to need his help.  He didn’t like it but he didn’t have much of a choice.

When Matt figured out that what Stick needed help with was killing a child, he still managed to feel betrayed even though he should have seen something like this coming.

When Matt learned that Stick had actual gone through with it, he snapped.

They ended up destroying half the furniture in the apartment before Stick caught him in a brutal hold that hurt like hell and was almost impossible to get out of.

Almost.

“Ah, so you have learned something.” Stick said after he had flipped free, “You could have been great Matt.  Perfect, even.  If you just had just stayed clear of all that morality crap and not picked up so much baggage.”

“Those _people_ ,” Matt spat, “are not baggage.  They support me; make me stronger.”

“Oh yeah?  That’s what you really think?” Stick twirled his cane around menacingly, “Then why’d you push the husband out the door?”

Matt ground his teeth together, his whole frame seething with anger.  “He’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”

“Must be pretty good in bed for you to keep him around as long as you did—”

Matt lunged.

Of course, Stick had been winding him up on purpose and was prepared for the move.  Matt took hit after hit and they just kept coming.  Anger and sheer will kept Matt upright, and he was able to get the better hand eventually.

After being smashed through a set of stairs, Stick didn’t have much fight left in him and Matt spit at the old man’s feet.  But the bastard had already gotten under Matt’s skin.  Even as Stick left, promising to never return, it still didn’t feel like a victory.

Alone, in his mess of an apartment, Matt just felt hollow.

\-- -- --

Staring at his contacts, Foggy let his thumb hover over Matt’s number.

They hadn’t talked since the morning after the bombing, when Matt had finally called him back at 4 am. 

Judging from how anxiously they both asked after each other’s safety, a bystander probably would have thought they were a perfect happy and normal couple.

But as soon as it was clear that they were both fine, things quickly went quiet and uncomfortable.

“I’m glad you okay.” Foggy has said, meaning every word of it despite everything, “Really.”

“Me too.” Matt replied, “Was your family okay?”

“Yeah.  Shaken but okay.”

“Good.”

Silence had stretched out until Foggy couldn’t stand it anymore and had quickly brought it all to an end. Matt seemed ready to talk more but still said his goodbye. 

As bad as that had been, Foggy desperately wished he could go back to it.  Anything would be better than what he had to do now.  Telling someone else made it real. 

“It’s me.” Foggy took a shaky breath after Matt picked up and tried to prepare his heart for what he had to say.  “Something’s happened.”

\-- -- --

It took Matt a whole night to find the man who killed Elena Cardenas. 

When he did, it took him about five seconds to scare the junkie into submission. He was a coward, a broken man only concerned with his next fix.  He was nothing.  Elena had died for nothing and the thought of it turned Matt’s wild rage into something tightly coiled; something dangerous. 

The junkie probably wouldn’t have walked ever again, but then—

The junkie told him where to find Wilson Fisk. 

\-- -- --

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks Marci.”

“I always thought you deserved better than the poor, blind guy—”

“You’re really not helping.”

Marci shrugged and sipped her drink.  “Just saying.”

Foggy sighed and took a big drink from his own glass. 

“What do you want Foggybear?” Marci steepled her hands in front of her, “A shopping spree?  Some more drinks?  To go smash his windows in?  It can all be arranged.”

“I want files on Wilson Fisk.”

Karen had gotten the name from the reporter Ben Urich, who had gotten it from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Foggy didn’t really want help from the scary ninja that may or may not have blown up half the city, but Karen trusted Ben.  And judging from the way that Marci stilled, his eyes going sharp at the mention of Fisk, this was a good lead. 

Marci tried to put on a good face.  “You know I can’t say anything about a client—”

“Mrs. Cardenas was _killed_ Marci.  There is something very, very bad going on here and when it all gets traced back to Landman and Zack, you’re going to be left playing violin on the Titanic.  Unless you get out in front of it right now.”

Marci pursed her lips at him. 

“Help me.” Foggy knew he was pleading, but he needed this win, “For old times.”

Looking away, Marci sighed.  Then she pulled a notepad and pen from her purse.  “What are you looking for?”

Foggy almost sent up a thank you to the big guy upstairs, but just ended up listing off names for Marci to scrawl down. 

\-- -- --

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“You know that’s not correct Matthew.”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t deserve to be blessed.”

Father Lantom drew his lips into a thin line and adjusted his seat in the pew.  “God blesses everyone, even the wicked if they confess and seek absolution.”

Matt snorted.  “Are you sure of that Father?  What about the Devil?”

“Lucifer was once an angel.”

“But then he fell.  He was cast out of heaven.” Matt said, “He could never be forgiven.”

Sighing, Father Lantom considered that for a moment until he finally turned back to Matt.  “What do you want me to tell you Matthew?  That your soul can’t be redeemed?”

“There’s something I have to do.  For the city.” Matt tightened his grip on his cane, “But if I do it, I’ll be damning myself.”

Father Lantom sat forward, alarmed.  “What are you considering?”

The plastic of his cane squeaked under the pressure of his grip.  “Too many people have already been hurt.” Karen, Elena, Foggy, countless unnamed souls.  “I’m the only one that can stop it.”

“Matthew—”

“Thank you Father.”

Matt stood up and left the church without looking back. 

\-- -- --

“Holy shit.”

Foggy dropped the paper he had been looking at like it was on fire.

Staring at it, and the spread of papers covering his whole desk, Foggy realized that there was a connection staring him in the face.

And there was one block of buildings, owned by Armand Tully, in the middle of it all.

Fisk wanted it for some reason and was using this one firm, owned by someone named Owsley, to get his hands on it.  And all of it had to be traced through about a billion different accounts and subsidiaries, but it was all here, on paper.

Foggy thanked his lucky stars for Marci Stahl and grabbed his coat.

There was another property that seemed to be important, with multiple different off-shore accounts attempting to purchase it from its owner.  If he could figure out what they wanted with it, maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on in Hell’s Kitchen.

\-- -- --

Matt had been well aware that it was a trap. 

He had been prepared for a trap. 

What he wasn’t prepared for was Nobu.

Silent, without so much as a heartbeat, he managed to corner Matt in a way he had never really experienced. 

His skin was sliced open, his muscles torn and his blood shed.  He was nearly killed before Nobu went up in flames and he got to take his shot at Fisk.

But the bastard was still a step ahead of him, his suit lined with some kind of armor.  He beat Matt through a table, making sure he was nothing but a smear of blood on the cement before he stopped to gloat.  

“You’ve shown a clear weakness for the innocent.  Women, children.” Fisk drawled as he held Matt up by the front of his shirt, “I assumed that your protective streak would extend to the elderly.”

Matt’s blood was a fire pulsing through him and leaking out of the huge slice in his side. 

“Mrs. Cardenas must have been a special woman.” Fisk dropped Matt to the ground and gestured to one of his guards to leave the room, “I never considered that she would be an effective piece of bait for anyone else beside you.” The guard came back, dragging someone behind them.

Matt’s blood turned to ice.

The frantic heartbeat, the remaining whiffs of shampoo, the stumbling footsteps—Matt recognized it all instantly.

“It seems that you really do catch more flies with honey.” Fisk said, as Foggy was dropped like a sack of potatoes next to him.   

“No.” Matt’s voice was a horse whisper, a shocked gasp of air escaping from lungs still trying to work despite the beating he had just taken. 

Immediately making sure that Foggy was okay, Matt could smell dried blood in Foggy’s hair, and the bones of his back creaked from strain as he tried to breath. 

Realizing that Foggy had been beaten before he was even brought here, something cold ignited deep in Matt’s gut. 

Even the Devil had his demons and Fisk had just incurred the wrath of every one of them. 

\-- -- --

“A guard found him snooping around a building that certainly wasn’t his.”  Fisk, the pig himself, sounded almost bored as he looked Foggy over.

Foggy knew he must look like shit.  In just a few hours, he’d been pistol whipped, thrown into the trunk of a car, and physically dragged up more stairs than he could count in his current state. 

Already certain of his own impending death, Foggy somehow found enough space in his terror to come up with just about the dumbest thing he could do to the man about to kill him.

“Fuck you.” Foggy spat at Fisk’s shoes.  The guards all widened their eyes and visibly tensed, while the man in the mask, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, breathed in a sharp gasp.

Fisk looked down at his shoes with a grimace, his sneer turning ugly.

“You are a petty fool aren’t you?” Fisk voice was a twisted growl.

“At least I’m not bald.”

Before Foggy could even register that Fisk was moving, the Devil shoved him out of the way as one of Fisk’s fists swung through the space his head occupied just seconds before.

But the Devil had already been beaten half to death.  Fisk was easily able to avoid his return attack and shove the Devil back to the ground.

Sidestepping the fallen Devil, he grabbed Foggy by the lapels of his jacket and hoisted him up off of his feet. 

Foggy’s vision went white with fear.  He scrabbled towards Fisk’s face blindly before he was thrown back to the ground and all the air got knocked out of him.    

Already struggling to catch his breath, Foggy felt gigantic hands tighten around his throat.  He tried to claw at Fisk’s arms and face but his vision was quickly going black.

Foggy closed his eyes, trying to calm himself for whatever would come next.  He had never been the religious one, but now that he was facing down death he sort of wished he had something to look forward to.

Feeling like he was already leaving his body behind, Foggy distantly hoped that Matt had right all along and there was a heaven.  He’d love to see his Grandma again.

There was a loud thud, and Foggy’s lungs filled with air so quickly that it felt like he had gotten punched again. 

Foggy coughed around the sharp, cold air until his vision cleared enough for him to see the Devil sitting on top of Fisk and pounding him with punch after punch.

“Don’t touch him!” The Devil yelled before some guards managed to pull him off. 

Fisk sat up and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.  He whipped the blood from his face and looked to the Devil with disgust.  “Kill them both.”

One of the men pulled a gun from inside his expensive looking suit, cocked it and pointed it at Foggy.

The Devil let out a guttural shout and managed to elbow one of the men holding him before he punched out the other one.  He shoved the man with the gun and raced up to Foggy. 

“Run!” He grabbed Foggy by the arm.

Foggy stumbled upright and managed to follow him as they sprinted past the shocked guards towards a heavy metal door.  The Devil threw his entire weight into it with a sickening smack and it swung open.

Grabbing the Devil by the arm on instinct, Foggy helped him catch his balance as they kept running.

They ran and ran and ran, until Foggy was sure his lungs were going to burst. Even then, the thought of Fisk’s hands closing around his throat kept him moving. 

He only slowed down when the Devil let out a cry of pain and came to a faltering stop. 

Foggy watched as the man pressed a hand to the side of his black shirt, now soaked with blood.  No matter who the hell this guy was or what he had done to those cops, he had just saved Foggy’s life. 

“We have to get you some kind of help.” Foggy said, trying to see where else the guy was bleeding from. 

“No hospitals—” The Devil groaned and he leaned back against the concrete wall of whatever abandoned building they had ended up in.   

“You just got _stabbed_ ,” Foggy said, throwing his hands out towards the Devil, “I need to get you somewhere or you’re going to bleed out.”

The Devil slid down the ground and breathed through clenched teeth.  Foggy watch him and waited for any kind of direction or plan.

Finally, the Devil huffed in a shallow breath and ripped open the Velcro on one of his pants pockets.  He started to reach for something, but paused again.

“I have a friend, someone who helps me out when I get hurt.”

“Okay good.” Foggy let out a breath and gestured for the Devil to pick up the pace a little, “How do we get to this friend?”

The Devil finished fishing something out of his pocket.  He reached it out towards Foggy, who now recognized it as a flip-phone.

“Her name is Claire.”

Foggy froze; his fingers twitched in the air inches from the Devil’s outstretched hand.

He looked up from the phone and stared at the Devil. “What did you say?”

Something in the Devil seemed to have deflated, like the blood-loss was emptying him out.  “Her name is Claire.” he said, defeated, “She’s a nurse.”

Foggy took a few quick and stumbling steps backwards.  He stared at the phone.  It looked the same, but then again don’t all burner phones look the same?  It didn’t make any sense—maybe it’s all a big horrible coincidence?  Or maybe this was a bad dream, one that he was could wake up from and move on from.  Or—

“Say something,” The Devil’s hand was starting to shake from the effort, but he didn’t pull the phone back, “Please Foggy.”

Foggy’s eyes moved from the phone, up to the face of the Devil; for the first time since he had met the man in the mask he really _looked_. 

The line of the his jaw, the angle of his shoulder—the closer Foggy looked, the more he saw of his husband hidden among the shadows.

His voice shook as the name slipped from his lips. “Matt?”

The Devil was shaking all over now.  He curled in on himself a little but he still managed to say, “I’m sorry.”

The thick, deep voice was gone now and Foggy’s ears rung with the familiar sound. 

“Holy shit—” Foggy brought a hand to his face as he struggled to understand what was happening. 

Just minutes ago he had been trying to figure out what to do when this stranger died on his watch, but now—

Foggy fell to his knees, winced at the pain, but still scooted forward.  With trembling hands, he reached out.  The pads of his fingers brushed across skin and stubble, up to the hem of the mask. 

The Devil flinched, his breath catching in his throat, but he was shaking too bad to really protest as Foggy’s fingers hooked under the edge of the black fabric.  Foggy pushed it back, revealing a familiar cheekbone, a bloody nose.

As the mask fell away, the rest of the world went with it.

Foggy pulled back and stared at Matt, trying to reconcile the man in front of him, pale with blood loss after a vicious fight, with the adorable boy he met on move-in day at Columbia.

“You…” Foggy stammered, his eyes going back to the bloody gash in Matt’s side, “Oh my God Matt.”

No longer a strange good-Samaritan who had saved his life, this was _Matt_ , the love of his life, bleeding out in front of him and Foggy was suddenly terrified for a whole new set of reasons.

He had already lost Matt once, and he couldn’t stand the idea of losing him forever.

Foggy ripped his jacket off and started to press it into Matt’s side.  Matt hissed but dutifully kept the bundle tight against his wound.

Pulling the phone free from Matt’s other hand, Foggy flipped it open and called up the only number saved on it.

The phone rang once, twice, before a woman on the other end picked up.

“Matt?”

Foggy let out a shaky breath through his nose before he plowed on.  He didn’t have time to think about any of this too hard right now, no matter how many different thoughts and questions were flying through his head.  “Claire?”

The woman paused, considering.  “Who is this?” She finally asked, clearly suspicious.

“My name is Foggy—”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.  “What’s happened?”

“Matt’s been stabbed, like a bunch; there’s a lot of blood and he’s shaking and I don’t know—”

“Okay, okay,” Claire’s voice was clear and steady, “Apply pressure to the wound and try to keep him from moving too much.  Where are you?”

“I don’t—” Foggy looked around the warehouse desperately, “Somewhere near—”

“We’re in the parking garage next to—” Matt tilted it head a little and stiffened, “We can’t stay here.”

“Matt, you shouldn’t move.” Foggy said, even as Matt pulled himself back up to a standing position.

“The cops are only a few blocks away.” Matt pulled the mask back over his face and started to hobble away from the support of the wall. 

Foggy stared, open mouthed, at him.  “How the hell do you know that?” he asked, just as the wail of sirens started to reach them through the concrete.  Blinking at Matt’s receding back, Foggy finally pulled himself together and scrambled back up after him. 

There would be time for questions once he made sure that they were both safe and not currently dying. 

“Matt, wait!” Running up next to him, Foggy curled his arm around Matt’s back and took on as much of his weight as he could.

“What’s happening?” Claire asked, and Foggy remember he was supposed to be talking on the phone too.

“We’re apparently running from the cops.” Foggy said. 

“Tell her to meet us at the apartment.” Matt said.

“Are you sure you can make it that far?”

“Yes.” Matt’s teeth were gritted in pain, but Foggy could hear the steel in his voice, the stubborn strength that he knew all too well, “I’m going to get us home.”

“Okay.” Foggy nodded and rearranged his grip on Matt, “I trust you.” 

The words came out on instinct, but as soon as he said them, Foggy knew they were true.  He had no idea what was happening, or even who Matt really was, but he knew, deep in his gut, that this man would still protect him. 

The words seemed to hook in Matt too, and he tensed up against Foggy’s side.  But he never stopped moving, even when he was putting practically all his weight on Foggy. 

Hopelessly lost in every sense of the word at this point, Foggy just blindly followed Matt’s directions as he took them through what felt like every back alley and side-street in Hell’s Kitchen. 

By the time they made it to their building, Foggy’s shoulders were on fire and his hands were slick with blood and sweat. 

“How, exactly,” Foggy gasped for air, “do you plan on getting to our apartment?”

“Service elevator.” Matt gestured with his head towards a back door with a busted lock.

“Well, so much for security.” Foggy said as he began to shuffle them towards the door. Matt started to wheeze, but it broke into a pained groan.

“Sorry, sorry, no jokes.” Foggy said, kicking at the door to get it open without losing his tenuous grip on Matt.

They made it, by some miracle, up to their apartment, before Matt slid to the ground—the crust of blood and sweat that had essentially glued him to Foggy’s side tugging at hair and skin as they were finally separated.

“Holy fuck.” Foggy wheezed, leaning against chair to try and catch his breath.  He looked around and saw the apartment wasn’t in the best shape anymore either.

“What the hell happened?” He asked, eyeing the smashed table pushed into the corner.

“Long story.” Matt managed to say, but his voice was getting weaker.  Panic started to rise in Foggy anew when there was a knock at the door.  Foggy’s head whipped around to stare at it. 

“Don’t worry, it’s her.” Matt was barely audible from his spot on the floor, leaning, half-conscious, against one of their chairs.

Foggy stared at Matt.  This thing he kept doing, where he seemed to just know where to go, where people were, was scary as hell.  How many things had Matt _known_ over the years? 

Just how much had he been keeping from Foggy this whole time?

There was another knock and Foggy pulled himself out of his spiraling thoughts.  He rushed to the door and pulled it open.

For the first time, Foggy found himself face to face with the other person he had been obsessing over for the past month.

“Where is he?” Claire had steel in her gaze and a paramedic bag slung over one shoulder. Foggy took one look at her and stepped aside, gesturing towards the living room.

Foggy quickly closed the door and followed Claire over to Matt’s sprawled form.  She didn’t waste any time, kneeling down in front of Matt as she pulled on a pair of medical gloves.

“What the hell have you done this time?” She took Matt’s head in her hands and inspected his nose—“not broken”—then held his eyes open one at a time. 

Finally, she pulled his limp hand away from his side and carefully peeled away what was left of Foggy’s coat. 

She swore under her breath and Foggy could feel the world falling away beneath him.

She looked to Foggy, “We need to move him to the couch.”

Foggy nodded, barely holding back his nausea, and did as he was told. 

\-- -- --

The rest of the evening bled together. 

Foggy followed Claire’s orders the whole time, handing over bandages and needles, holding things where he was supposed to, and applying pressure as needed.

The order and direction helped Foggy hold the surge of terror and questions at bay; he focused on the action, the simple movement, as he desperately tried not to think about what he was seeing in front of him—Matt cut open and broken. 

Finally, after what felt like a year of tense work, Claire sat back on her heels and let out a breath. 

“Is he...” Foggy voice felt too loud in his own ears as he stared at Matt’s unconscious face, “Is it done?”

“That’s as good as I can patch him up here, with all this.”

Foggy let out a long, heavy breath and as his gaze drifted back to the stark white bandages wrapped around Matt’s middle. 

“I—” Foggy wasn’t sure what to say; his whole life had been upended too many times for him to really process any of it.

“If he rests and doesn’t do anything stupid, he’ll survive.”

“Thank you.” Foggy said, even though it didn’t capture his gratitude.  He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but at least Matt was still here.  All because of her. 

“What about you?” Claire looked him over, “How badly are you hurt?”

“Eh.” Foggy tried to shrug but it hurt his back to move like that.  He winced.  “Nothing’s broken or openly bleeding.”

“That’s good.  I should still look you over.”

Foggy knew she was right and didn’t have the energy to argue, so he let her shine a light in his eyes, check his breathing, and clean the cut on his head.

As she applied some antiseptic so a scrape on his arm, Foggy watched her work and said, “I’m sorry you had to get all messed up in this.”

Claire sighed and shrugged. “It’s not your fault.  I signed up for this when I pulled him out of a dumpster.”

“A dumpster?” Foggy glanced quickly between Claire and Matt, “Jesus…”

“He saved my life that night.” Claire stared intently at her work, and Foggy could practically see the memories playing in her head.

“I thought he was having an affair with you.” Foggy said.

A sad little smile reached Claire’s lips.  “I know, he told me.” She said, “I was probably almost as angry at him as you were.”

Foggy huffed. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Claire breathed out a burst of air through her nose. “You’re right, I’m—” She looked at her hands, still covered in bloody gloves. “I’m sorry. For everything he’s put you through.”

Foggy blinked at her, tears held back all evening threatening to force their way out.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Reaching out, Claire took one of his hands in hers and squeezed. 

Salty tears started to bubble their way to the surface and Foggy could feel his breath growing ragged with emotion.

“Shit, sorry—” He rubbed a hand across his face and tried to get himself under control. 

There were two snapping sounds as rubber gloves were pulled off, then a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and Foggy couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I thought—” Foggy managed to say through his tears, “It was simple when I thought he was cheating.  It was terrible but—it wasn’t this.”

“I know.” Claire rubbed a hand up and down his back as he cried into her shoulder.

“Now, I don’t even know what to think.” Foggy sucked in a big gulp of air, “He’s been lying to me since the moment we met—I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“I know,” Claire pulled him close again, and murmured into his hair, “I know.”

Foggy took a few more breaths, managed to calm himself enough to ask, quiet and scared, “Is he even blind?”

Claire’s eyebrows came together in concern, and she nodded.  “He’s blind.”

“Then…how…”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

Foggy couldn’t think of anything else to say, too tired and upset to put anymore words together into a coherent thought.  Instead, he just leaned into Claire’s shoulder. 

After a few more moments, Claire’s phone started buzzing.  She pulled it out and sighed. 

“I have to go.”

Foggy nodded and leaned away, rubbing his hand across his damp face.  “Thank you, again.  For everything.”

Claire nodded and squeezed his shoulder one more time.  Foggy stood up and watched, in a haze, as she finished packing up her bag and checked Matt’s stitches again. 

“Call me if anything goes wrong.” Claire said and gave him another quick, tight hug, “Anything at all.”

Foggy nodded, hummed a goodbye, and watched her leave.

Suddenly alone again, Foggy looked around his mess of an apartment as exhaustion settled heavily into his bones.   

The light from the billboard outside played across Matt’s pale skin and Foggy found himself unable to pull his eyes away from the rise and fall of his husband’s chest. 

Foggy could remember falling asleep to that rhythm, could almost feel the warmth on his cheek.  But when he brought his hand to his face now, all he found was dried tears.

\-- -- --

Waking up was always strange for Matt.  His mind muddled with sleep, the world would come to him in bits and pieces.  Today was no exception.

After a moment, a brief second of fuzzy awareness, the throbbing pain in his side finally reached his brain and he let out a tense breath through his teeth. 

Careful fingers reached for the cotton bandages wrapped around his middle and felt the heat of swollen, healing skin.

He licked his chapped lips and mentally checked through the rest of his body, assessing the damage. 

Everything hurt.  He mentally tallied up his bruised ribs and pulled muscles, the number of stitches; all of this on top of the hole in his side, still weakly bleeding through his bandage.

A deep breath in and a deep breath out, Matt started to pull himself upright.   

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Matt’s fell back into the couch.  “Foggy?”

“What, you couldn’t tell it was me from across the room with, your—” Foggy came around the back of the couch and set a glass of water on the coffee table between them, “telepathy or whatever?”

“I don’t—” Matt reached out with his senses, tried to bring the rest of the apartment into focus, “I can’t read minds.”

“But you can see?”

Matt’s blood went cold.  Pain-addled memories came flooding back to him: the fight with Nobu, the flight home, avoiding the police in alleys and backways, just trying to get them home in one damn piece. 

Foggy taking his mask off.

“I haven’t been able to see since I was 8.”

“Then,” Foggy was pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, “how the hell can you do all that stuff?  I saw you on TV, with all those flips and kicks and shit.”

“In the accident,” Matt adjusted himself on the couch, “The chemicals that splashed in my eyes, they made all my other senses—” he swallowed and tried to find the right word.  He wasn’t used to explaining it to other people. “Heightened.” 

Foggy sighed and sat down heavily in the chair across from the couch. “And what does that mean?”

“I—” Matt breathed through his nose, looking for a worthy explanation, “I know that you stayed here last night because your hair smells of our shampoo.” Foggy breathed in sharply, “The sheets are pulled back on the bed, but you barely slept.  And I know that the more I say, the faster your heart beats.”

“You can hear my heart?” Foggy’s voice was strained.

“It helps predict behavior, when someone will throw a punch or tell a lie.”

Foggy got much quieter, “You can tell when people are lying?”

Matt nodded a little, not sure what else to do. 

“All this time and you’ve—” Foggy stammered a little and stood up again, pacing anxiously, “You’ve constantly been lying to me, but recognized every lie I’ve ever told.” Foggy scuffed.  “You deserve a fucking Oscar for that act.”

“No, I—” This whole conversation felt too familiar.  Matt had already lost Foggy to his lies, and now the truth was doing just as much damage, “It’s just another way of seeing.  I never told anyone about it, even my dad.”

“We’re _married_ Matt!” Foggy was pacing again, “We’re not supposed to have any more secrets with each other.”

“I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how.  Or where to start.”

“At the beginning maybe?” Foggy’s blood was running, hot and fast, through his veins, “Would I have been freaked out?  Angry?  Sure, totally.  But it wouldn’t have involved me dragging you, half-dead, through the streets.

“Matty—” Foggy’s voice was heavy with emotion, wet and breathy from tears not yet shed, “I’ve had a long night to think about—all of it.”  He turned to Matt, “And the thing I don’t understand is why you would rather destroy our marriage than tell the truth.”

A fat tear rolled down Matt’s face, as more gathered in the corners of his eyes.  “I wanted to talk to you, but it was too risky—”

“Too risky?” Foggy let out a gurgled, struggled noise, “Since when have you seen me as a risk?”

“No!” Matt shuffled around on the couch, frustrated at himself and his choices and the fumbling words that weren’t coming out the way he wanted them to, “The less you knew the less risk you would be in.”

“That’s bullshit Matt.” Foggy’s voice was sharp, biting as it tore holes in Matt’s excuses, “None of these secrets and lies and crap would matter when you died in that mask.  The first cop on the scene would have pulled it off and traced you back to me.”

Foggy jabbed a finger into his own chest, too hard; Matt could hear the bones creak against each other.

“Do you have any idea how much that would _hurt_?” Tears finally started to run down Foggy’s face, “If you died, and I didn’t have any idea what happened until someone fished your body out of the river?”

“Foggy, I’m sorry—”

“No.  You don’t get to—”

“People were dying—”  Matt desperately needed Foggy to understand.

“You clearly enjoy it!” Foggy shouted back, “I saw the footage on TV; the way you hit Fisk.  You enjoy beating people to a pulp.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?  I may not be able to hear you’re heartbeat but you’re still a terrible liar Murdock.” Foggy’s voice cut through him like knife, right to his worst fears “And I bet that’s why you wanted me out.  So you could focus on your sadistic little games.”

“I didn’t want to lie; I was only trying to protect you!  I thought you would be safer without me, so I let you believe what you wanted—”

“ _What I wanted_?”  Foggy spit a little, his face progressively becoming more and more of a mess, “I wanted things to stay the way they were, I wanted to be happy and—fuck it, Matt,” he threw his hands up, “I wanted to start a family with you.”

Matt felt like he had been punched again, all his air leaving him in a big, painful gasp.

“You…you mean kids?” Matt asked, quiet and scared of the answer.

Foggy got quieter too, “Yeah.” 

Of course Matt had thought about it too, but between law school and work it always seemed like a thing for the future. 

Now the future was upon him and it seemed like he had already ruined it.

“Did you—” Foggy started and cut himself off.  He huffed and pulled the back of his hand across his face.  When he started again, there was steel in his voice.  “Did you blow up those buildings?  Kill those cops?”

The question hurt, and Matt winced at what it meant, at how little Foggy trusted him now.  “No, it was all Fisk.  He’s behind everything, the Yakuza, the bombings, the cops—he’s the one making it all happen.”

Foggy looked away.  He moved over to the window, looked out over the street, and sighed. 

“How did you ever expect to take on all that on your own?” Foggy asked.

This was not the question that Matt had been expecting and he blinked towards Foggy.  “I—I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

Sighing again, his whole body emptying out with the breath, Foggy kept staring out the window as he said, “The moment you put on that mask you told the world that you were special; that you could take on the bad guys and get out unscathed.  But it’s all a lie.”

Foggy turned back towards him. 

“Even the big guys always have sidekicks and backup Matt.  No one can do this on their own without getting killed.  As much as it hurt me to leave, seeing you die in front of me would hurt more and I can’t do that.”

Moving in towards Matt, Foggy stood in front of him and put his hands on his hips.

“You want to know what I wanted?  I wanted to spend my life with my best friend.  But I guess we can’t always get what we want.”

Foggy pivoted on his heel and started towards the door.

Matt tried to stand up, but his stiches pulled and his body burned and he was frozen in place.  His cry, “Foggy, wait!” left his tongue as the door slammed shut.

For the second time in a month, Matt listened to Foggy walk away and felt his heart break with each footstep.

One more time and it would probably stop beating altogether. 

\-- -- --

“Oh my god.” Karen brought a hand to her face, drained of any color and pale.

Foggy put his hands up, palms out, and tried to look reassuring, “But I’m fine now, so it’s okay.”

“Foggy, you almost _died_.  I—” Karen took a step forwards and pulled him into a careful hug, like he was made of glass.  He appreciated it; he’d felt particularly breakable since last night. “I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you.”

She pulled back but didn’t let go of his upper arms.  “Did you call Matt?  He should know what happened, and we have to warn him,” she pulled away, suddenly distracted and agitated, “Ben too, and Marci, and—”

“I don’t think Fisk knows how I figured out where to look.” Foggy said, carefully sitting down on Karen’s sofa, “And Matt knows.  He—” Foggy caught himself as he watched Karen frantically look for her phone, “I called him afterwards.”

He felt terrible about lying to Karen, like he was twisting himself up into knots, but now was not the time to drop another bombshell on her. 

“At least the man in the mask was there.” Karen said as she pulled her cell phone free from a stack of paper and started to dial someone’s number, “Do you believe me now?  He’s not what the newspaper says he is; he’s a good guy.”

The memory of Matt, baring his blood-stained teeth as he pounded his fists mercilessly into Fisk, came back to Foggy and he had to suppress a shudder.

“I still don’t know if he’s a good guy,” Foggy said, shaking his head, “but he’s definitely not who I thought he was.”

\-- -- --

There was a slight knock on the front door.  

Foggy pulled his head off of his desk and looked towards it. 

The knock came again, in time with Foggy’s pounding headache.  It wasn’t even a hangover this time, just the stress and sleep-deprivation that had seeped into every aspect of his life.

Every time Foggy closed his eyes, he would see Fisk looming over him, closing in on him.  Then he’d wake up after barely any sleep gasping for air and reaching for the phantom fingers wrapped around his throat. 

Another knock, and this time the person on the other side spoke up. “Foggy?  Are you in there?”

Foggy sat up a little straighter.  He knew that voice.

His chair scraped against the floor as Foggy pushed himself upright and made his way through the empty office. 

“Hello?” Foggy asked, pulling the door open a little.

Through the crack of space, Claire waved at him and smiled softly.

“What are you doing here?” Foggy asked as he pulled the door all the way open.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” Claire stepped in and glanced around the darkened room, “Are you trying out some new hours?  Looking to cash in on that 24-hour lawyer business?”

Foggy couldn’t help but snort, even if it felt wrong.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He finally said, watching Claire finish her curious loop of the office. 

She hummed and turned back to him.  “I bet.”

Silence, thick and sticky, clung to them.  Foggy looked down at his shoes, working up the courage to ask how Matt was doing.  Claire beat him to it. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Foggy looked up at her, “No.”

Claire sighed.  “You should.”

“Why?” Foggy shrugged sharply, “What is there to talk about?  Our marriage is—”

“Don’t say something you’re going to regret later.” Claire cut him off and left no room for protest.

“Sorry.” Foggy felt bad for lashing out; Claire had done nothing to deserve his anger, “Do you want to sit down?”

Claire hummed again, thinking, before she shrugged.  “Sure.”

“Here.” Foggy led her into his office.  She looked around once before she sat in one of the chairs across from his desk.  Foggy pulled the other chair around so they could face each other and sat down too.

“He’s healing.” Claire said, unprompted, “Physically anyway.”

Foggy nodded and hummed, unable to stop the relief that flooded his system at her words.  “That’s…good.”

They fell back into silence for a moment, as Foggy tried to pinpoint exactly what the vague swirl of _bad_ making its way thought his chest was so he could articulate it to Claire.

After a beat, Claire cleared her throat and Foggy looked up, grateful to be led through this conversation.

Claire’s voice was calm.  “Do you know what he did after you found the phone?”

Foggy shook his head.

“He came to me, looking like he had been through an actual meat grinder.”  Claire looked carefully into Foggy’s eyes, “He punished himself, mercilessly, and beat a bunch of people half to death in the process.”

Foggy swallowed thickly. 

“Matt saw himself as a danger, so he let you hate him, even though it nearly killed him.”

“I don’t hate him.” Foggy looked down, picked at his nails, “I think I might have, for a moment, but—he’s my best friend.”  It seemed silly to say it out loud, “I love him.” 

Claire reached across and laid a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently, “And he loves you.”

Foggy stared at her hand to hide the way that his too-tired eyes were already watering.  It had been a long week and his body was unprepared for this particular conversation.    

“He thinks he’s protecting you; that you’ll be safer without him.  But he needs you, even when he won’t admit it.” Claire squeezed his arm one more time before she pulled her hand back, “It’s a heavy burden right now, but it’s the truth.”

“None of this sounds healthy.” Foggy finally looked up. 

Claire looked him in the eyes, “It’s isn’t.  Not right now.  Matt is too caught up in right and wrong, good and bad; he’s keeps forgetting that everyone is more complex than that.”

“Including himself.” Foggy added quietly, and a little touch of a smile reached Claire’s lips.

“Yeah.” She nodded, “Exactly.  He’s made mistakes Foggy, and we all know that.  But he’s the one who’s _never_ going to stop punishing himself for them.” She stood up from the chair and Foggy followed suit.  She took a step towards the door, before she stopped, something new crossing her mind. 

“He’s going to turn himself into a martyr,” She said, watching Foggy over her shoulder, “if someone doesn’t show him that he’s worth more than that.”

Deep in his gut, Foggy knew that she was telling the truth. 

He could already see the front page of the paper.

There would be a full page spread on the lawyer-turned-vigilante that tragically died trying to save the city.  It might finally turn the tide against Fisk, but the stench of flowers, the press of mourners at the funeral, the questions, the empty apartment—

The loneliness he had felt the night of the bombings came back in a crushing wave and Foggy realized with a blinking start that he would rather face hell with Matt than live in heaven without him. 

Looking up, Foggy met Claire’s gaze as the realization shook its way through his bones.

Taking two quicks steps forward, he wrapped Claire up in a tight hug.   Startled and caught off-balance at first, she hugged him back just as tightly.

“Thank you.” Foggy said into her shoulder, even though the words would never be enough for everything she had done for them.  

Claire squeezed his shoulder and graciously ignored the way his voice shook.

What Foggy had done to deserve this angel, he didn’t know, but he soaked in her comforting calm in a vain hope that it would help him with what he knew he had to do next.

\-- -- --

Lungs burning and blood trickling down his side from where his stitches were torn out, Matt looked out over the burning remains of Madame Gao’s warehouse.  

Another piece of the puzzle, gone, slipped through his fingers like sand. 

Cursing, Matt tried to stand up from his crouch and hissed at the pain of it. 

A deep breath, then another, and Matt managed to pull himself to a standing position. 

He turned to go home but stopped, tilting his head a little to get a better angel on the wind.  Moving away from the fire, he could now taste the hint of moisture in the air.

It was about to rain.  No—

Matt titled his head to the other side as the sensitive skin on his arm prickled with the electivity running through the air.

There was a storm brewing. 

\-- -- --

Matt wasn’t home.

Swearing under his breath, Foggy knocked one more time to be sure. 

Met by another silence, Foggy leaned his head against the door and tried not to think of what Matt was doing right now, besides tearing out all of his stiches.  

For a moment, all Foggy could see was Matt bleeding out in alley. 

Shuddering, he pushed himself off from the wall and stared at the door.  Fishing through his pockets, he pulled out his keys. 

He unlocked the door and stepped into his apartment, his skin prickling with goosebumps. 

There was a window open in the living room, the curtains billowing out around it, and damp chilly air was pouring into the apartment.

Foggy went to close the window, then realized that Matt had definitely left it open for a reason.  So instead, Foggy pulled his coat around himself a little bit tighter and got a beer from the fridge. 

Setting into the couch, Foggy opened the beer and waited. 

And waited.

After finishing his beer, he started on a second. 

He turned on the TV, then turned it off, then checked his email for the millionth time. 

It started raining, filling the living room with drippy color. 

Foggy gave up on sitting still and started pacing the length of the apartment.  He contemplated pulling out the vacuum just to have something to do, but gave up on that idea when he realized what time it was. 

Foggy was in the bedroom, turning around to pace back in the other direction when he heard the rattle of someone moving around on the fire escape.

He stopped, and watched Matt’s shadow melt along the wall as he climbed back into their apartment.  After a beat, the shadow stopped moving, though the rain made it shake and shimmer. 

“Foggy?” Matt’s voice carried over the rain pattering against the windows. 

Foggy stepped out of the bedroom, and took in the sight of Matt, in his all-black get-up and dripping wet.

“Hi.” Foggy said, unsure of what else to do.

“What—” Matt was breathing rather heavily, his chest rising and falling in big motions, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” Foggy couldn’t seem to look away from the silhouette of his husband, nothing but black and shadow against the light from the window, “I came to talk.”

Matt processed that, titling his head to the side a little, “Okay.”

No matter how many times Foggy had practiced what he wanted to say, there was something about being put in front Matt when he was like this that made all the words evaporate off of his tongue.

Finally, Foggy said, “How are you?”  It felt awkward, like small talk at a dinner party and Foggy couldn’t help but resent that that’s what they had become.

“I’m…” Matt shifted his feet a little, finally losing some of the stiffness in his stance, “I’m alive.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Foggy looked up and noticed that Matt was favoring the one side.  “Do you want to,” Foggy shook his head and threw his hands up in a vague gesture, “sit down or something?”

Cocking his head to the other side, Matt considered it for a second before he took another step into the apartment, his wet shoes squeaking against the hardwood.

“Actually,” Foggy held up a hand and Matt stopped short, “first, take the mask off.”

Matt reached up and after only a moment of hesitation, pulled the mask away. 

There was still a ragged cut along his brow, plus a new bruise forming along his jaw, but getting to really see him was still better than the mask.

They both let out a breath, like they had just faced down something much scarier than a bit of black cloth.

“Have you told Karen?” Matt asked, quiet and clearly uncomfortable. 

“No.” Foggy had wanted to so many times, but hadn’t been able to find the courage. 

Matt nodded. “Thank you.”

“Were you ever planning on telling us?”

Matt clenched one of his hands into a fist then released it again, splaying his fingers as his side.  “I don’t know.”

Foggy shoved his own hands into his pockets and hummed. 

“I should have, but—” Matt’s voice grew bitter, “I was a coward.”

Foggy huffed.  “You are a lot of things Matt Murdock, but a coward is not one of them.  Stubborn and foolhardy?  Maybe.  But not a coward.”

Matt’s jaw twitched. 

“Look,” Foggy said, “I get why you did what you did.  I don’t agree with it, but I get it.”

Matt shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“And now we tried it your way.” Foggy pulled his hands from his pockets to gesture at the room at large, “You kept me in the dark, pushed me away, and I still got hurt.”

Matt tried to cut in, “Foggy, I’m—”

“No. Stop—,” Foggy let out a frustrated breath, and took a step towards Matt, “Let me finish what I was saying before you jump in with your guilt, you Catholic idiot.”

Matt went totally still, his mouth hanging open a little.

Foggy took in a deep breath. He could feel his gut clench in anxious anticipation.  “From the moment we met, I knew you were something special Matt.  You were it for me, and I had never really considered a life without you, until,” Foggy shrugged, “well, y’know.”

Matt was unusually still during this whole thing, not even fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“But I also always knew, deep down, that you still weren’t going anywhere,” Foggy continued, “That we could talk about it, work on it.  But the bombing?” Foggy waved his hand around uselessly, “Almost dying on our sofa?  That’s something else.  That’s a life without you, and that’s scary as hell.”

Silence fell over them as the rain started to pound down even harder outside. 

After clearing his throat, Matt carefully asked, “What are you saying Foggy?”

Sighing, Foggy ran a hand through his hair.  “We’re never going to be the same.” he looked up to Matt, “You made sure of that.”

Matt’s hands both clenched into fists at his side, but before he could say anything Foggy plowed on, needing to get it all out right now before he lost his courage again. 

“But,” Foggy kept going, “I still don’t want to lose you.”

Matt stilled again. 

“What I’m trying to get at is,” Foggy took another step forward, brought himself to the periphery of Matt’s personal space, “I’m willing to try.  To start again.”

He let that sink in; let the sound of the rain wash over them.

Shifting his weight again, Matt let out a breath and said, “You’ll never be safe with me.”

Foggy threw up his hands in frustration.  “When are you going to get over that?”  He said, “Life is dangerous Matty.  I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, or kidnapped by scary ninjas, apparently.  You need to accept the fact that you can’t protect everyone all the time.  You’re only human.” 

Matt opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, clearly at a loss for words.  So Foggy kept going:

“I’d much rather be in danger, and get to be with you, then be safe.”

“But—”

“Stop doing that!” Foggy wanted to shake Matt but just let out a tense breath instead.  He didn’t come here to fight again.  “You have to let people make their own decisions, and I have to accept the ones that you’ve already made—no matter how we feel about them.”

That finally seemed to calm Matt a little and some of the stern lines of his stance softened. 

“This is only going to work if we can trust each other.” Foggy said, “And I can’t trust someone who tries to manipulate me like that.”

It took Matt a beat to speak up again.  “I know the words don’t mean much anymore, but I am sorry Foggy.”

“I know.”

“I—” Matt’s jaw clenched, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“ _I know_.” Foggy said, “But are you willing to try again?  Without the secrets this time?”

Matt bit his lip a little, considering.

“Matt.” Foggy took another step closer, “Please.”

Tilting his head a little, Matt’s eyes were starting to water, “I want to Foggy, I do,” he clenched his hands helplessly at his sides, “but I don’t know if I can.”

Unable to stop himself or think about it, Foggy finished crossing the space between them and took Matt’s face in his hands.

“Yes you can,” Foggy thumb moved across Matt’s stubble, whipping away the stray rain drops still clinging to his skin, “I know you Matt Murdock, and fear has never stopped you from doing anything.”

Matt’s face crumbled and he brought one of his own hands up to rest over Foggy’s. 

“And hey,” Foggy shrugged and blinked back his own tears, “sometimes, I can actually look out for myself too.”

Matt let out a huff of air, a breathy gasp of a laugh and Foggy couldn’t hold himself back anymore.  Wrapping his arms around Matt’s neck, Foggy pulled him into a tight hug. 

The rain seemed to pound against the windows in time with Foggy’s thundering heart as he latched onto Matt’s sodden shirt. He could already feel the damp seeping onto his own skin but he didn’t care—the only thing that mattered was the way that Matt was holding him tight, pressing his face into the crook of Foggy’s neck.

They stood like that, swaying and clinging to each other, for a few long, watery breaths.  Then, Foggy finally pulled back enough for them to talk again, without taking his hands off of Matt’s shoulders.

“I have a few conditions,” he said.

Matt swallowed, and nodded solemnly. 

“First and foremost,” Foggy said, “You need to get some goddamn body armor.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Good.” Foggy squeezed Matt’s shoulder to emphasize his next point. “And from now on, we work together.  We’re a team.  You do not lie to me like that ever again.” 

Matt tensed a little under Foggy’s grasp but still nodded.

“I don’t care if you’ve killed someone, or sold your soul to some crazy thunder god, or…I don’t know.” Foggy threw his hands up, “I’m married to a superhero, life’s going to be weird and scary sometimes,” He grabbed Matt by the face again and pulled him close, “But if you tell me the truth, we can talk about it.  We can figure it out.”

Matt nodded numbly, and Foggy rested his forehead against Matt’s, letting out a long breath.

“You’re infuriating Matty, but I love you.”

Matt let out another little, surprised breath of air, and moved his hands to rest carefully on Foggy’s hips.  “I love you too.  More than anything.”

“You better.”

Matt tightened his grip on Foggy, who wrapped his arms around Matt again until a shiver ran up Foggy’s spine and he realized just how chilly and damp he was getting.

Pulling back again, he pushed some of Matt’s wet hair out of his face and softly smiled.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Foggy helped Matt out of his wet clothes, pulling his shirt over his head so he didn’t have to stretch his already strained stitches. 

When Foggy saw the blood dripping from one cut that Matt had already ripped open, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it.  Like a car crash, it was both fascinating and terrible all at once. 

“Foggy?”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Foggy tried to push away the sight of Matt beating Fisk and went to work unlacing Matt’s boot.

Once he was down to just his boxers, Foggy sent Matt to take a hot shower and hung all the wet clothes over chairs by the radiator.    

When Matt came back into the living room in a clean pair of sweatpants, he ran a hand through his hair nervously and asked, “Are you staying here, tonight?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” Foggy glanced at his phone, “I guess I should.   Since it’s so late.”

“I’ll take the couch—”

Foggy shook his head, “You’re the one who should be in a hospital Matt; you get the bed.”

Matt seemed ready to argue but he held his tongue.  Instead, he bit his lip and seemed to make a decision.

“Would you…” he started, quiet and uncertain, “join me?”

Foggy blinked at him, something in his chest already telling him the answer that he wanted, no matter how dumb and selfish of a decision it probably was.

“Sure.”

A ghost of a smile flickered on Matt’s lips, gone in an instant before he was nodding and making his way into the bedroom.

Breathing once, twice, Foggy inspected his hands and listened to Matt move around in the bedroom. 

For a moment, he let himself smile, let the hope rising in his chest truly burn through him. 

Fisk was still out there, Karen still wasn’t telling him everything, and Matt showed no signs of stopping his one-man war—but they were talking again. 

It was enough, for now, to let Foggy fall asleep curling on his side, watching the rise and fall of Matt’s battered chest. 

Perhaps it was because he wasn’t alone, or because he knew that Matt would protect him no matter what, but for the first time in a long time, Foggy actually slept through the night.    

\-- -- --

Matt woke up the next morning with Foggy snoring softly next to him.

It was such a simple thing, just to be next to him again, but it was everything to Matt.  He breathed in and laid very still as he let all the sensations of his husband wash over him.

The moment was beautiful, and perfect, and cut short when Foggy’s phone starting ringing.

Blinking awake, Foggy stared at Matt for a moment, looking vaguely confused, before he rolled over and grabbed his phone.

“Hello?”

This close, Matt could hear Karen on the other end.  She was sobbing.

Foggy’s heart rate spiked and he quickly sat up.  After another moment of listening to Karen, he turned to Matt.

“It’s Ben.”

\-- -- --

The stench of formaldehyde and freshly turned dirt clogged Matt’s nose as they lowered Ben Urich’s casket into the earth. 

Guilt, cold and cloying, seized Matt’s chest but he still managed to put on a brave face, even express his condolences to Mrs. Urich. 

“Like a God Catholic boy,” He told Father Lantom when he asked about how he was holding up. 

When Foggy asked, he bit back the lie and said simply, “This is why I didn’t want other people to get involved.”

“Matt—”

“First Elena, now Ben,” Matt took a breath to keep his anger from bubbling over, “I can’t do this again.  If something happens to Karen, or you—” His voice broke, betraying him and Foggy grabbed his free hand, squeezing hard.

“Listen to me Matt,” he said, leaving no room for debate, “this was all out of your control.  And if you go after—” thinking better of it, Foggy glanced around and dropped his voice down, “If you go after him on your own again, I’m going to be burying you.”

Matt ground his teeth together.

“I don’t want that.” Foggy let go of Matt’s hand, “Do you?”

Karen started crying over by Mrs. Urich and Foggy let out a breath.  He went over to her and left Matt alone, the wind whipping around him and carrying a deep, bone-chilling, cold with it.  

Tightening his grip on his came, Matt made a decision.

\-- -- --

Champagne spilling all over his hands, Foggy tried to right the bottle before he lost it all on the floor of their office.

Karen laughed at his fumbling, a bright and wonderful sound after the tension of the past few weeks.  Matt hadn’t stopped grinning since they got the news.

Fisk was on the way to prison, to be locked up until a court date that would never be decided after the amount of publicity that had surrounded his arrest.   Good riddance.

Foggy poured them all some champagne then held his glass aloft.

“To Nelson and Murdock,” Foggy said, before he gave Karen a significant look, “and Page, of course.”

“Good catch.” Matt smirked at him as Karen clinked her glass against his.

“You know it buddy.” Foggy smiled back at him, wondering distantly if Matt could tell, and took a big sip of his champagne. 

None of this felt particularly real.  It wasn’t that long ago that Foggy had been certain that he was going to die.  Now he was toasting to the successful conclusion of their biggest case, probably ever.

After Ben’s funeral, Matt had agreed to come back to the office and look over the files that Marci had managed to smuggle out of Landman and Zack.  Leads turned into more leads and Matt only left when they needed the Devil to save a corrupt cop. 

It wasn’t perfect.  Matt was still tiptoeing around him like he was made of glass, Foggy still felt like he was in the dark, and the Devil continued to loom over everything they did. 

But it was a start.  That was all Foggy asked for and he was more than happy with the current result.

“What are we going to do with all our newfound fame and fortune?” Foggy asked, sitting back in his squeaky office chair with a satisfied sigh.

“What fortune?” Karen asked, raising an eyebrow at him, “Is there something we should talk about as a firm?”

“Uh oh.” Matt chuckled.

“You snitch!” Foggy grinned even as he reached over to try and whack Matt on the arm. 

But Matt was too quick, rolling back in his chair as he playfully called back, “You’re the one who said something.”

“Oh okay, I see how it is.” Foggy got out of his chair, presumably to chase after his husband, but his champagne sloshed out of its glass in the process.

Unable to stop laughing, Karen just doubled over and was very unhelpful as Foggy tried to wipe up the spilled champagne with a paper towel.

Foggy was still on the floor, trying to hide his own grin, when Karen suddenly stopped laughing and went deadly quiet.  His brows furrowing together, Foggy sat up and looked over at her. 

She was stock still, staring wide-eyed over his shoulder.  Next to her, Matt had gone totally still, his knuckles white from gripping the arm of his chair so hard.

Cold dread filled Foggy’s veins.  Unprepared for everything to slip away again so soon, Foggy turned slowly to face the computer they had set on Karen’s desk with the newsfeed of Fisk’s arrest.

He reached up and turned up the volume so that people beside Matt could hear it. 

“—an armed attack on his police transport, Wilson Fisk has escaped police custody,” The newscaster looked noticeably pale, “I repeat, Wilson Fisk has escaped.  We are told that civilians should stay off the streets until this matter has been resolved.  Reports are still—”

“That fucking bastard.” Karen’s voice was pure acid, with a conviction that Foggy couldn’t seem to muster just yet.  His brain was still trying to process what was happening; it had skipped over the anger stage and went right to abject terror.

Wilson Fisk knew exactly who had taken him down and all three, really four, of them were sitting in this little office.

“We need to get out of here, hide somewhere—” Foggy looked back over his shoulder and found Matt already half-way to the door. 

Foggy didn’t think he could have gotten any more scared in that moment, but seeing Matt, his fists curled at his sides and his jaw set, filled him with a new kind of panic.

Foggy didn’t know what Matt’s plan was, but he knew that if he killed Fisk, Foggy would lose him forever.

Scrambling to his feet, Foggy set off at a sprint after him. 

\-- -- --

“Matt wait!”

Fighting back the anger surging in his veins, Matt came to a shuddering halt at the end of the hall. 

Foggy caught up with him, breathing hard.  “Wait.” He took a deep breath and grabbed onto Matt by his upper arms, “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done in the first place—”

“You can’t kill him.” Foggy realized how loud he was being and looked up and down the hall before he leaned in and hissed, “It would destroy you.”

“I’m not going to kill him.”

Foggy let out a breath, but still didn’t let go of Matt.  “What’s the plan then? We’ve already done our part, let the police—”

“Do you think the police have any kind of a chance against him?” Matt’s anger heaved and rolled inside him, “People have already died tonight and more will too.  I’m the only one that can stop him—”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“You know why.” They were both hissing back and forth, trying to stay quiet as their emotions boiled over, “I can help people, this is what I’m good at.”

If Foggy asked him to, Matt might stay.  Then Fisk would go free and Matt wouldn’t be able to stop himself from resenting Foggy for it.

That couldn’t be an option.

“Please, Foggy,” Matt leaned in closer, closing his eyes as he pleaded, “You have to let me do this.”

Foggy’s breath was a heavy, hot, cloud of steam against Matt’s skin.  “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“I won’t lose you.”

“Foggy,” Matt let out a ragged breath and pressed his forehead against his husband’s, “I’ll be back, I promise.”

Something close to a dry sob rattled out of Foggy and he pressed his lip against Matt’s in a desperate, messy, almost painful, kiss. 

Matt kissed back, his hands curling tightly around Foggy’s waist.

When they separated, it felt like surfacing for air in a rushing current.  Matt gasped for breath, as his pulse roared in his ears.

“Go.” Foggy said, and Matt didn’t need any more invitation than that.

\-- -- --

+

\-- -- --

Matt twitched as the alcohol hit his wound.  

“What’s the point of this fancy armor if it doesn’t do anything?” Foggy asked, wincing as he dabbed at the cut along Matt’s jaw with the cotton ball, despite the fact that he wasn’t the one feeling anything.

“It was a lucky hit.” Matt said, rubbing his hand across the top of Foggy’s thigh in an effort to be reassuring.

“Okay good.” Foggy leaned back and threw the cotton ball into the trash pile on the other side of the table, “For a minute there I thought you got the new costume just to be extra.”

Matt chuckled.  “It’s a symbol.”

“It has horns.”

“That’s what makes it symbolic.”

“I hate you.”

Matt pouted and Foggy let out a sigh. 

“Sorry,” Matt leaned in a little and gave Foggy a quick peck at the corner of his lips, “But you’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t have to be.” Foggy shook his head, and reached for the antibiotic cream. 

When he turned back to Matt, a punchline on the tip of his tongue, he found Matt’s smile gone.

Foggy deflated a little.  “It was just a joke Matty.” He knocked his knee against Matt’s, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt nodded and sat still as Foggy applied the cream. 

“Hey Matty,” Foggy finally said, quietly breaking the little pocket of silence, “Do you think you’ll take a few nights off before the ceremony?  So you won’t look like you’ve fallen down a flight of stairs in the photos?”

That finally got a little quirk of a smile back to Matt’s lips and Foggy warmed at the sight. 

“Yeah,” Matt said, “I was planning on taking a break.  Afterwards too.”

Foggy made an excited noise, “Oh really?  I get you all to myself?”

Matt hummed and leaned in a little closer.

“And what did I do to earn such a nice surprise?”

Hovering inches from Foggy’s lips, Matt raised both his eyebrows at him and said, “Everything.  You deserve everything.”

“I like the sound of that.” Foggy as he closed the distance between them.

\-- -- --

The whole thing had been Matt’s idea. 

Twirling his wedding band around his finger as he laid in bed one night, Matt just rolled over to face Foggy and asked, “Will you marry me?”

Foggy had looked over, one leg in his pajama pants, and raised an eyebrow at Matt.  “We already did that one Matty.”

“I know, it’s just—” Matt shrugged a little and went back to twirling his ring around, “I never told you this, but I spent the whole night before our wedding trying to decide if I had made a huge mistake.”

Foggy let out a surprised chuckle as he finished pulling on his sweatpants. “Oh yeah Murdock?  You got cold feet on me?”

“I wanted to marry you, very badly.” Matt sat up and looked towards Foggy’s face.  His uncanny ability to do that had thrown Foggy for a loop the first few times, but, in the end, it was one of the simpler things to get used to. 

“What I was unsure about,” Matt continued, “was my decision to not tell you about my senses.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

Foggy sighed and joined Matt on the bed.  “And now that I know, you want to do it again?”

“I love you Foggy.”  Matt took one of Foggy’s hands in his, “And I want to marry you without any secrets this time.”

Foggy could feel warmth blossoming across his face.  He squeezed Matt’s hand in his, then brought it up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to bruised knuckles. 

“I think I like the sound of that.” Foggy said and a brilliant smile spread across Matt’s face.

“Okay then.” Matt stood up on top of their mattress. 

Foggy laughed as Matt pulled him up with him, just so he could get down on one knee.  It stopped being so funny when Matt pulled off his engagement ring and offered it up to him, “Foggy Nelson, will you marry me?  Again?”

“Of course.” Foggy nodded, suddenly emotional, and took the ring.  He leaned down and kissed Matt, his fingers threading into his hair, “A million times, yes.”

\-- -- --

The ceremony was beautiful. 

There weren’t as many people and the church wasn’t done up with all the flowers and things they had the first time, but vow-renewal ceremonies weren’t supposed to be big deals anyway. 

That didn’t stop his mom from going through half a box of tissues with Karen in the front row before he and Matt had even walked down the aisle, arm in arm.

After Father Lantom thanked everyone for coming and explained what they were here today to do, he opened the ceremony with a passage that Matt had picked out.

“It’s cliché, but,” Matt had shrugged as he ran his fingers over his braille Bible, “I think it’s fitting.”

“Love is patient,” Father Lantom voice carried the words through the whole church, “Love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

Then he turned to Matt.  It was also his idea to write their own vows this time and Foggy knew exactly why once he started talking. 

“Foggy.” He started, “I vow to be there for you, in sickness and health and everything in between.” Matt’s hands were shaking so Foggy reached out and took them in his, “I vow to be safe, and always come home in one piece.”

Foggy let out a watery little chuckle at that and Father Lantom raised an eyebrow at them. 

“I vow to—” Matt stuttered and faltered for a moment.  He squeezed Foggy’s hands in his, “I will try, every single day, to listen more; to think about how my actions will affect you.  We’re a team,” he shook their intertwined hands to emphasize his point, “and I vow to work _with_ you to make _us_ work.”

Foggy was outright crying at this point, and when Father Lantom turned to him to give his own vows, he just shook his head and laughed.  “How am I supposed to follow that?  You showed me up at my wedding again, you bastard.”  He looked to Father Lantom, “Sorry, Father.”

Matt laughed through his own tears and leaning in a little bit closer.  Foggy took the opportunity to rest his forehead against Matt’s and try to pull himself together for a moment.   

“Okay.” Foggy breathed in and leaned back.  Matt reached up and carefully used his thumb to wipe away some of Foggy’s tears.  “Thanks.”

Matt, who still hadn’t stopped smiling, nodded and took Foggy’s hands in his again.

“I vow to love you, and forgive you, even when it’s hard.” Foggy said, “I vow to be there when things look dark, to help you when you’re hurt, and to listen even when I don’t understand.”  Matt’s breath was warm on his face as Foggy took another breath, “And I vow to never give up on us.”

Matt smiled and Foggy felt something in his chest settle, happily, for the first time in a long time. 

After that, Father Lantom said some more stuff, all of which was lost on Foggy until he heard that he could finally kiss his husband. 

The press of lips was sweet and chaste, but it was everything to Foggy. It was a promise, a vow, a future yet to be realized and a past that could be rediscovered with new eyes, all wrapped up in a simple press of lips.

It was happiness, pure and unfiltered and sparkling in its brilliance. 

It was the start of something new. 

**Author's Note:**

> the bible reading at the end is from 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, for those who are interested 
> 
> thanks again for reading!


End file.
